Little Whinging Primary
by Kiara7
Summary: Harry's life, pre-Hogwarts, as a ten year old kid attending Little Whinging Primary. This is the nine months that come before the start of Book One. Some school yard violence, some random strange happenings, and a foul mouthed classmate.
1. Prologue

**Penname:  **Kiara

**Title:  **Little Whinging Primary

**Email**:  angeldlsm00@hotmail.com, lavenderrain00@hotmail.com

**Everyone always writes about Harry's life after he goes to Hogwarts.  I've written my share of stories about Harry at school, and even ventured to after graduation in one.  I figured it was about time I went to his life pre-Hogwarts.  I've been kicking this idea around in my head for awhile, now here it is.**

**DISCLAIMER:  I don't own Harry Potter in any way whatsoever.  As I'm American, I'm also not JK Rowling.  Strange how after all this time, I'm still just me.**

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**_Prologue_**

Kneeling beside a worn, cardboard box, Harry Potter blew off a sheet of dust that covered the top and hooked his fingers around the edges to pull apart the flaps.  He was instantly greeted with exactly what he had been expecting - Dudley's old clothes.  It had been like this for the last three boxes, so why should the fourth be any different.  Rolling his eyes at some unknown force (be it his Aunt Petunia or just his dumb luck in life), Harry shut the box and pushed it aside without bothering to dig through.

Ever since graduating from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry some four months ago, Harry had been trying to make his newly purchased flat feel like something of a home.  After countless shopping expeditions to either Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, Hermione's good sense had finally urged him to unpack his Hogwarts trunk.  It did some good to have his familiar school things placed about, books on shelves and Potions ingredients properly shunned forever in the basement, but something still felt like it was missing.  Things could have gone terribly awry when Harry showed back up at Privet Drive, but when Uncle Vernon heard that all Harry wanted was to take some of their unwanted junk out of the attic (also known as the precious few things they had saved from Harry's youth), he was tolerant enough to permit Harry's entrance.

Up in the dusty attic of theirs, Harry had lugged every single box marked with his name down the stairs and out to his car.  It took a few trips, and Harry could hear Ron's voice telling him the whole time about how impractical it was to use a muggle vehicle, but Harry finally managed to bring all the boxes back to his flat.  He had been tired, exhausted, and wanted to complain to a friend, but as he could never properly defend his car to Ron or explain to Hermione why he didn't just shrink the boxes (a thought that only occurred to him after he had unloaded the last box), Harry decided to go about unpacking.

So far, there had been very little luck.  Harry had been wondering why the Dursleys saved so many things of Harry's when they despised him so much and how he could possibly need to bring so many boxes when he was certain he never had these many things as a child.  After he sorted through the first box, he had his answer.  Most of the things they had saved either once belonged to Dudley before Harry or was broken by Dudley far before it had even been fortunate enough to fall into Harry's hands.  Still, he persisted.  There had to be something that they overlooked and threw into the box.  Didn't Harry ever have anything that was his own?

As he opened the next box, it appeared he was wrong.  There were scraps of a worn leather belt that Harry figured he must have used to keep his pants from falling down, especially if the large khaki trousers he pulled out next were any indication.  Though they would probably be a few inches too short and show his ankles (here, Harry's thoughts turned to Ron, which he felt guilty for instantly), he couldn't imagine even filling these things out now.  How had he possibly managed to live in these when he was much smaller?

"It's no wonder I didn't have friends," muttered Harry, almost smiling.

More of Dudley's old clothes came out of the box, which were followed by a broken Play Station and a couple of books that looked like they had never been opened.  There were no old school photographs in the box as would be expected because the Dursleys had never paid to have pictures of Harry taken.  Even if they had, it was very unlikely that Uncle Vernon would have kept them or ever put them out around the house.  For one, it would take away from Dudley's precious space, and Harry's hair would have driven him to the point of insanity.  Harry's lips curled up at the corners as he pondered this thought, tossing aside a sneaker that was falling apart.  That had to be his.  Dudley never wore his sneakers out this much.  Watching television and playing games on his computer didn't wear out the soles of the shoes, but running from Dudley and his gang sure did.

Harry's fingers stilled as he reached the bottom of the box, and his breath caught in his throat, his bitter mood at thinking of running from Dudley's gang forgotten.  Reaching in, he pulled out a pair of worn, boys sneakers, a plastic baggie filled with red and white toy soldiers, and a thick, paper bound book.  Setting the sneakers aside carefully, Harry ran his fingers over the curves of the plastic toys before wrapping the plastic around them and placing them in the shoe.  Last, he looked down at the book and ran his fingers over the dusty cover.

The paper was worn at the edges and what Harry remembered to once be a vibrant black that almost matched his hair had turned to a dull, washed out grey.  There were tears in the cover and the papers were wrinkled, but it was still in fairly good condition and not at all hard to make out the words to the cover - _Little Whinging Primary, 1991_.  The only yearbook Harry had ever gotten in his life through an accident of the printers that Harry had always suspected never occurred.  It had been the last nice thing that happened to him before he had accidentally released the Brazilian Boa Constrictor at the zoo was only left out of cupboard under the stairs to go to school, where Dudley told all the kids about how Harry had been trying to make friends with snakes at the zoo.  Apparently, making friends with snakes was pathetic and not at all cool.

Opening the cover of the yearbook, Harry looked over the inscription that Miss Hudson, his fifth year teacher, wrote in the cover.  He had always thought Miss Hudson bought the yearbook for him since he had never been especially popular and was often teased for everything from his hair to his shoes.  Skipping to the back, Harry found the few messages his classmates had written, and he began to read.

_Harry,_

_I had a great year in class with you!  Hope to see you at Stonewall High!  I hear __Dudley_ isn't going there so maybe we can be friends and I won't have to run away from Gordon.  Maybe we can even go trick or treating.  You would make a very convincing beetle.  Don't let your aunt and uncle get you down.  See you in September.__

_Amanda_

_Harry,_

_Sorry about having that fat lard boy for a cousin.  If I were you, I'd stick my foot up his fat arse, but only do it around professionals because you could lose your foot.  Thank the gods that care that he's going to another school next year.  Try to have a good summer and if Captain Wide-Load gives you trouble, just mosey on down to my house and I'll set him straight._

_Nikki_

_Jason,_

Here, Harry stared hard at the name and tried not to laugh.  Anyone else reading this would have been confused and for a split second, so had Harry.  He remembered Amanda Graves and Nicole Derris very well, as they were legendary in their class, and he appreciated them more than almost anyone else at school.  If it weren't for those two girls, he imagined his spirit would have broken, but it was Staci Bree who had always given him the comic relief when he had finally gotten away from Privet Drive, gone to Hogwarts, and looked back on primary school.  Glancing back at the name, Harry sighed and tried to prepare him for whatever Staci had written.

_Jason,_

_I'm glad you took those pills and aren't retarded anymore.  That was nice of your uncle, even if he did eat your clothes.  Stay away from the trash, okay?  That's just gross.  Have a good summer and don't get a sunburn because then your skin peels and it's really ugly.  I never get sunburns, but I'm sure you know that because I'm so pretty._

_Staci_

Closing the book, Harry carried it with him out of the living room, and he headed for the kitchen, thoughts of Little Whinging Primary embedded into his brain.


	2. A New Class

**Penname**:  Kiara

**Title**:  Little Whinging Primary

**Email**:  angeldlsm00@hotmail.com, lavenderrain00@hotmail.com

**Usually, I write a lot of a story before I post, but I'm writing this one as I go along so that I know what people want to read.  If you have any suggestions, let me know.**

**DISCLAIMER:  See the first chapter for a disclaimer.  I'm not smart enough to tell you I'm not JK Rowling in an amusing, light hearted way today.__**

****

**_Chapter One_**

"I told you to wake up!" came the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia through Harry's cupboard door.  "You need to watch breakfast and then you need to leave for school!"

Groaning, Harry rolled over in bed and buried his face into the pillow, coughing at the amount of dust he had just inhaled.  Sitting up, Harry started looking around for his clothing and finally managed to secure of pair of tan trousers that were four sizes too large and a gray t-shirt, which was also too big for Harry to be wearing.  He secured a belt around his waist to keep them in place and began searching for socks, squashing spiders in the process and wondering where his shoes had gotten to.

The clothes were horrible, his glasses were still broken and bound by tape, but Harry couldn't help but think that at least he didn't have to wear that horrible brown jumper his Aunt Petunia had tried to stuff him in yesterday.  The ugly thing had actually had orange puff balls on it, and though Harry couldn't explain it, he was more than relieved when it seemed to shrink right before his eyes.  Harry didn't even want to think about the torture he would receive from his classmates had he shown up in that thing.

Classmates.  Harry took off his glasses, set them on his bed, and rubbed the pads of his thumbs against his eyelids.  Even though he didn't like summer holidays and spending the entire day with the Dursleys, there were often times when chores looked a million times brighter than spending a day at Little Whinging Primary did.  This was one of those days, the ever popular first day back after a long summer holiday.  He was going to start fifth year today, his last year of primary school, and Harry found himself nervous.  Who was he going to have class with?  Who was going to be his teacher?  Would he or she be nice?  These thoughts ran through Harry's mind as he put his glasses back on, opened the door of his cupboard, and padded into the kitchen to see Dudley already stuffing his face with the breakfast Aunt Petunia seemed to have sourly finished while Harry was tying his shoes.

"You're going to have to walk," said Aunt Petunia, not even looking at him as she set a plate down before him.  From across the table, Uncle Vernon made a grunting sound and peered at Harry over the top of his newspaper.

"When was the last time you had that hair cut, boy?" barked Uncle Vernon.  Harry tried not to sigh.

"Last week," he answered.  This happened frequently and though Harry had become accustomed to it, that didn't mean it wasn't annoying.

"You need to get that hair cut.  Comb it before you leave the house, and do it properly."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Dudley sniggered at him as he continued to stuff his fat face with sausages, which Harry noticed there was three times as much on Dudley's plate as on his own.  In fact, Harry often left the table at the Dursleys with his stomach still hungry.  This was mostly due to the fact Harry didn't eat fast enough and once Dudley was done with his own food and finishing off the rest of what Petunia had made, he would start picking from Harry's plate.  Any attempts that would be made to stop him only received punishment from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.  As Harry liked a quiet life at the Dursleys, which meant being told to cut his hair and dust the sitting room when his mere presence annoyed them, he often kept quiet about Dudley's usual pilfer from Harry's plate.

Aunt Petunia checked the clock and told Harry that if he didn't start walking, he was going to be late to school.  Knowing full well that Aunt Petunia was going to drive Dudley to school, Harry tried not to glare at his overgrown cousin as he grabbed his torn and tattered backpack, which looked like it had seen the last of its days, and headed out of the house.  A few of his classmates were already walking the five blocks to the school and the kindly neighbor, Mrs. Figg, waved at him as he headed off.

"Good morning, Harry dear," she called as she tended to her garden, one of her cats circling her ankle.

"Good morning," said Harry, glancing across the street at two boys who had been in his class last year.  They were staring at him and snickering, and Harry dropped his head to stare at the pavement as he continued.

"That your girlfriend, Potter?" one of the boys, Kevin Edwards, called once they were out of Mrs. Figg's earshot.  He and David McNeil sniggered, pointing at him, and they crossed the street to flank Harry on either side.  "I don't know, Potter.  I think she's a little too attractive for you."

"But she did have lovely eyes," said David.

"Leave me alone," said Harry, shoving his hands into the huge pockets of Dudley's old pants.

"You don't want to talk to us?" said Kevin, feigning hurt.  "But I thought we were such good friends.  I hope we're in the same class this year, too.  Don't you?"

"Extremely," muttered Harry.

"Now that didn't sound very convincing," said David, frowning.  "If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like us very much."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" asked Harry.

"I'd watch my cheek if I were you, Potter," sneered Kevin, sticking out his foot to trip Harry up, and the two boys laughed as Harry sprawled forward.  He landed in a heap on the concrete; his palms were now covered in dirt, slightly bleeding from the texture of the sidewalk, and it was only this action of throwing his hands before him that kept his glasses from being broken for the millionth time.  Groaning as Kevin kicked him in the ankle, Harry glared at the two from beneath the bangs of his unruly black hair.  They turned around to sneer at him as they walked away, laughing about strange Harry Potter.

"Are you okay?" came a small voice and Harry pushed himself off the sidewalk to see Nicole Derris, who also lived on Privet Drive, watching him.  She had an eyebrow arched and was looking at Harry in a way he only usually recognized from his teachers:  pity.  When he didn't answer her right away, she frowned and started to twirl a piece of dark brown hair around her middle finger.  "Hello?"

"What?  Oh - er - I'm fine."

"You don't look fine.  Do you always let arseholes like that push you around?"

At first, Harry was taken back by the swear, but remembering that Nicole had an older sister with one of the foulest mouths he had ever heard, Harry let it slide.

"I don't let them push me around.  They just do it."

"Probably because you dress like that," said Nicole, scornfully looking over his attire as she began to walk again.  Harry hurried to keep up with her.

"It isn't my fault.  I have to wear this clothes," said Harry.

"If I were you, I'd go starkers instead.  Fortunately, I don't have that problem."

"I don't think I'd be allowed in school if I came starkers."

"Probably not . . . You live on Privet Drive, too, don't you?"

"Yeah.  Number four.  You live at number nine, right?"

"Yep.  You're going into fifth year too, right?"  Harry nodded.  "You know who you have?"

"Not yet.  I didn't go to look at the posting.  I'll find out today."

"I have Miss Hudson.  My sister, Denise, had her, too.  She said she was a bitch who knew too much about abortion for her own good.  I can't believe we have to learn basic health already, anyway."

Harry didn't reply as they entered the school yard and Nicole didn't even say goodbye as she left him to cross over to Amanda Graves, her best friend and the other half of The Run Girls, as they were dubbed by the other kids in their class.  This was mostly because Nicole had a big, foul mouth, and Amanda usually went along with whatever Nicole said.  They didn't seem to like anyone but each other, and this was considered a horrible infringement on the proper way of life, at least in the book of Dudley Dursley.  Most of the other kids valued Dudley's opinion, or at least were afraid that he'd sic one of his large friends on them, and went along with whatever he did.  A prime example of the results of such events was the treatment of Harry by his classmates, like Kevin and David.

He should have known that the first person to be remotely civil to him this year would be one of The Run Girls.  They were two of the only people who didn't care what Dudley thought, at least Nicole didn't, and since Amanda was her best friend, Amanda didn't care, either.  One of the most common things to come out of their mouths was a panic-stricken "Run!", shouted because Dudley would get angry with them and send Gordon Turner after them.  Nicole could certainly dish out the insults and cuss until she turned blue but neither girl had the physical capability to back their threats up.

Sighing, Harry passed The Run Girls and entered his primary school.  He headed for his old classroom to check the list of teachers, not particularly caring who he had so long as he could make it a record of three years in a row without being in Dudley's class.  According to the chart outside Mrs. Morgan's room, Harry had Miss Hudson in room 5-C, just like Nicole Derris and, as he saw on the chart, Kevin and David.

Finding his way to Miss Hudson's room was fairly easy, but the first thing he saw upon entering 5-C was Dudley, sitting in the first seat of the second row.  He gave Harry a nasty grin upon the latter's entrance and Harry felt his heart plummet to the pits of his stomach.  Trying to ignore the attention (which could only be bad) that Dudley was paying him, Harry began looking at the name tags on the desks for the one that would bear his name.

As if things couldn't get any worse, Harry thought his heart went straight from his stomach to his feet upon finding his row.  The first seat of the fourth row belonged to Dennis Mosier.  The second seat of the same row belonged to Piers Polkiss, who would be seated next to Gordon on his left.  Harry was right behind Piers, right in front of Malcolm Quint, and it appeared that Dudley's entire gang was in Miss Hudson's class, conveniently surrounding him.  This hadn't happened since first year, and Harry wondered what he did that caused such a severe punishment.

Students began filtering in, filling in seats, and Harry was getting sick of Malcolm plucking out random strands of Harry's hair when Miss Hudson came into the classroom to begin.  He was only vaguely aware of her welcoming them and telling them about switching classes for Arithmetic and Sciences as he surveyed his class.

"I've been told by the fourth year teachers," said Miss Hudson, "that I have one of the most diverse classes they've seen."  She gave a small chuckle that Harry didn't find at all funny.   Dudley's gang, The Run Girls, and Kevin was not his ideal combination.  "We will start class by introducing ourselves.  When it is your turn, stand up, tell the class your first and last name, and tell me something about yourself.  Miss Bree, why don't you go first?"

Harry noticed a short, thin, brunette girl stand up, and she flashed the room a smile.

"My name is Jennifer Bree, and I am a twin."

That much was obvious because when she sat down, her twin immediately stood up.  They looked almost identical, but the second girl had hair that went to middle of her back rather than the shoulder length cut that Jennifer had.  They both wore fashionable clothes, at least from what Harry could tell, and though he had seen them in the schoolyard before, this was the first time he had a class with them.

"My name is Staci Bree," said the second twin, and Harry grimaced noticing the hungry way Dudley was staring at her, "and my favorite color is pink."

"My name is Calvin Bruce," said a tall boy with light, blond hair.  "I hate cats."

"That's very nice, Calvin," said Miss Hudson, looking like she didn't know what to do about that one.  "Miss Derris?"

Nicole stood up, adjusted her sweatshirt, and said, "My name is Nicole Derris, but I prefer Nikki.  My therapist tells me I'm very opinionated."

Miss Hudson visibly swallowed.

"Thank you, Nikki."

A girl with long, straight auburn hair stood up and fixed Nikki with a strange look of unease.

"My name is Polly Dixon, and I happen to _like_ cats."  She looked pointedly at Calvin, who scowled at her before she sat back down.

Harry winced as Malcolm pulled another hair out from the nape of his neck.

They were now at the front of the classroom again and Dudley had now stood up.

"My name is Dudley Dursley, and my father works for Grunnings," he said in a loud, proud voice before turning around and winking at Staci.  Her face contorted into something that looked like disgust, and for a moment, Harry thought that she was going to throw up.

"My name is Kevin Edwards, and I play football.  West Ham is the best team ever."

"That's very nice, Kevin," said Miss Hudson, smiling as he sat back down.  Harry tried not to turn around and smack Malcolm as he felt the familiar sting on his scalp.

Amanda Graves stood up next and looked around the class.

"Amanda Graves.  I aspire to be a lawyer, and I couldn't care less about Grunnings."

From her seat, Nikki gave Amanda two thumbs up.  Staci looked torn between giggling at the comment and rolling her eyes at how childish it had been.  Harry was leaning toward the former and probably would have laughed if Malcolm hadn't taken to simply pulling on large chunks of Harry's hair instead of plucking individual strands.

"Amanda," reprimanded Miss Hudson, "that isn't nice to say about your classmates.  Apologize to Dudley."

"Sorry," said Amanda, looking straight at Dudley but not sounding very sorry at all.  Nikki snickered from her seat diagonal from Amanda.

Next was a girl named Kristy Grover, who told everyone that she took ballet, and that was followed by a boy named Robbie Hamilton, who also thought West Ham was a good team, and Paul Hicks, who wanted to be a news reporter one day.  In the second seat of the third row, a girl stood up who wore mismatched clothing from her purple t-shirt, yellow floral skirt, and socks, which were red and green.  Harry would have wondered who let their child go out of the house like that, but he was sitting there in Dudley's old clothes.  Wondering would have only been futile, and he really had no room to talk.

"My name is Sara Jones," she chirped.  "I want to be a model."

"For what?" asked Nikki.  "I hope not clothes.  You need to learn to coordinate your colors.  Are you wearing _sneakers with that outfit?"_

"Now, Nikki," said Miss Hudson, "Sara can wear what she wants to wear.  I think you look lovely."

"Er - me too," said Staci, nervously.  She eyed Sara's outfit, flinching.

"Sorry," muttered Nikki, sounding less apologetic than Amanda.

Sara sat back down in her seat and the girl next to Harry stood up, her black hair pulled back into two pigtails.  She told everyone that her name was Shannon Klein, and that her mother was a writer for the local newspaper.  She was followed by Anthony Lundin, who moved to Surrey from London last year.  David McNeil went next, arguing Kevin's point about West Ham, and since the two boys didn't start a fight, Miss Hudson refrained from forcing any more apologies.

They were now at the beginning of Harry's row, and Dennis told the class about how he liked to watch The Great Humberto on television.  Piers Polkiss told everyone about his favorite ride at a theme park he went with Dudley to for Dudley's tenth birthday last year.  Now, it was Harry's turn, and he was aware of every eye on him as he stood up and tried to think of something to say.  From somewhere to the right (David McNeil if he had to fathom a guess), a paper clip flew over and smacked him in the arm.  A short bout of scattered laughter followed.

"My name is Harry Potter," said Harry, and he heard Piers mutter, "freak."

"Tell us something about yourself," said Miss Hudson, noticing his pause.  Amanda and Nikki were discussing something under their breath, and Staci was taking in his attire, grimacing even worse than she had with Sara Jones.

What could he say about himself?  He wasn't allowed to watch television, didn't have a favorite food, and certainly didn't have a sports team that he favored.  So many of the kids at school teased him, as was obvious from the disgusted and amused looks from his classmates, and he didn't have a friend to share with them.

"I live with my aunt and uncle," said Harry, finally.  _Real smooth_, he thought.

Thankfully, Miss Hudson didn't press him further, and Harry sat back down as Malcolm stood up, glad that he was free of hair torture for at least a few minutes.  He was especially thankful that he didn't have to explain that he lived with his aunt and uncle because his parents had died in a car crash when Harry was only one, rendering the boy with nothing but a scar on his forehead.  Even though the kids usually made fun of him for this scar, claiming it must have give him brain damage, Harry still liked it, and didn't need to taint it with the horror story.

After Malcolm was Mindy Sanford, who collected dolls.  They wrapped up with Heather Sloan and Gordon Turner.  When the ordeal was finally over, they were free to go outside for recess.  This was one of Harry more horrible points of the day, watching everyone laugh and play when he had no one to share such joy with.  He sat on the grass away from where some of the younger students were playing and watched as his class interacted, trying to gauge how this year might turn out.

No matter what, things were bound to be bad.  Dudley was already telling Anthony Lundin, Paul Hicks, and Robbie Hamilton about how terrible and freaky Harry was.  David and Kevin were backing him up, and Dudley stopped his harangue only when Staci, and what appeared to be her gang, wandered by.  It comprised of the Bree twins, obviously led by Staci, Mindy Sanford, Kristy Grover, and the recently adopted Sara Jones, who Staci was teaching color coordination to.

"Hi, Harry," said Nikki, sitting down next to him.  On his other side, Amanda sat down as well and started scratching at what appeared to be a mustard stain on the knee of her jeans.  "It is Harry, isn't it?"

"It's Harry," he confirmed.

"Is Dudley your cousin?" she asked.

"Er - yes.  Why?"

"Well, I know you live on Privet Drive, and you said you lived with your aunt and uncle, and Dudley lives on Privet Drive, too . . ." reasoned Nikki.

"And he's always beating you up," added Amanda.

"You should kick that fat arse of his.  He couldn't chase you.  All that blubber weighs him down."

"I agree.  He's so disgusting.  I can't believe Miss Hudson made me apologize to him already.  Who cares where his father works.  I bet he's a fat arse like Dudley, too."

"Well, I _knew_ you weren't sorry.  Why should you be sorry about telling things like they are?  Do _any of us care where his father works?"_

"Not if we still have proper brain function."

"You don't like Dudley, do you?" said Harry, trying to crack a smile.

"We don't really like anyone," said Amanda.

"Except you," added Nikki.

"And why do you like me?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," pondered Nikki.  "Perhaps it's because you're sort of pathetic and we pity you."

"Or just because Dudley doesn't like you and we'd do anything to piss him off," added Amanda.

"I think it's both, though.  Maybe more reasons, too.  You're kind of cute in that helpless, pathetic, dirty, lost puppy kind of way."

"Ew," said a voice behind them and they turned around to see Staci and her gang.

"What?" said Nikki.

"Did you just say something about a dirty puppy?" said Staci, scrunching up her nose and tossing her hair.

"Yeah," snapped Amanda.

"If you have a dirty puppy, you should really give it a bath.  Dirt is gross."

Staci tossed her hair again and looked down at Harry, Amanda, and Nikki.

"Sitting on the ground is gross, too.  Your pants are going to get dirty."

"I'm very scared," said Amanda, rubbing her legs against the grass and causing green streaks to appear on the denim.  "Whatever will I do?  I'm going to have to use a washing machine!"

"Ew," said Jennifer, and the girls of Staci's gang scrunched up their noses, minus Sara, who looked at the other girls and tried to imitate them.

"Ew," said Sara, trying to look disgusted.

"You should really wash that puppy," said Staci, and she tossed her hair one final time before she turned and motioned to the other girls.  They walked away, shaking their slim, girlish hips, Sara trying to walk like Staci in the most awkward way possible.

"Geez," muttered Amanda.

"If I had known an abandoned puppy metaphor was going to cause so much trouble, I would have refrained from saying it," said Nikki.

"It was so appreciated, though" said Harry, dryly.  "I do love being compared to a dirty puppy."

"I'm sorry.  I can't help your abandoned puppy appeal," said Nikki.  "If you don't want to be sympathetically magnetic, then kick your cousin in the arse.  Hard.  And don't get scared if his fat tries to retaliate."

"Right," agreed Amanda.  "I hear that in people that big, the extra poundage starts to have a mind of its own.  It becomes something of a parasite.  In fact, you might want to be careful around him at all times."

"But just because we like you, it doesn't mean that we're going to hang out with you all the time.  You aren't a Run Girl, after all, and I think you do enough running from Dudley and company on your own."

"But feel free to talk to us so long as really cute boys aren't around," said Amanda.  "If you talked to us in front of cute boys, they might think we fancied you."

"Or that we fancied boys who dress like you.  You really need new glasses.  The tape is dorky."

"Thanks for the newsflash," muttered Harry, who, despite his bitter disposition, was exceptionally pleased to find an acquaintance in The Run Girls.

Miss Hudson began to call them back and, after rounding the class up, led them back inside to continue their first day of class.

*****

Harry sat in his cupboard just after dinner, leaning back against his pillow and staring at the ceiling as he watched a spider working on its web.  The first day hadn't been as bad as he anticipated, but the sheer dread of what was to come loomed over him like a tidal wave, waiting to crash down on him and sweep him away.  He wished he could leave the Dursleys, go away to a place where someone would actually like him.  How could the Dursleys be the only family he had left?  Didn't he have grandparents somewhere?  Didn't his father have any siblings that the Dursleys didn't know about?

Whatever the situation was, Harry prayed that some unknown relative come and take him away before he had to spend too long in Miss Hudson's class.  She was young, kind enough, but seemed to be a bit of a pushover that Dudley was already starting to wrap around his pudgy little finger.  Having Dudley's gang in his class wasn't going to make it any easier.  He thought of Malcolm yanking on his hair during introductions, Kevin tripping him on the way to school, and paper clip that David had flicked at him.

Flipping over onto his stomach, Harry buried his face in his pillow and tried to avoid doing the one thing he avoided doing more than anything else.  He could not, would not, cry.  It was too soon in the year, there were far too many evils waiting ahead of him.  They could not break him already.

Not for the first time since he could remember, Harry thought of his parents.  There were no pictures of them in Dursley house, and Harry wondered what they looked like as he felt himself start to drift off to sleep.  He imagined a place where his parents were alive, where he could leave his cupboard and never have to go back to Little Whinging Primary again.  With these images in his mind, Harry felt himself start to drift and he welcomed the sleep that came upon him.

**I don't know when I'll be updating this or how soon it will be.  I do have the next few parts planned out, but I guess we'll see.   Leave a review if you have any suggestions or just want to be kind.  If you want to be informed of when I update, email me at angeldlsm01@hotmail.com and let me know that its this story you want to be added to the update list for.**


	3. Jason

**To the few people who were kind enough to leave a review:**

**Ms. Midnight Bandit**:  Such as why I decided to write it.  Originally, I wanted to read a story about Harry before Hogwarts, and I couldn't find one I really liked that was true to JKR.  So – I tried.  And my original characters in Harry's class are all based on the kids from my elementary school days, or me and my sisters.  Staci, in fact, since you mentioned her, is actually my little sister.  Unfortunately, she acted very much the same way Staci Bree in this story does.

**Arwen**** Undomiel:  I don't think this story will be nearly as long as Falling, maybe Overheard, though.  I doubt it.**

**Tine**:  Nikki is based on my best friend from when I was a kid.  I figured, what better way to write Harry's classmates than to draw from the real kids I went to school with.  Sad, though.  I feel kind of bad.  I was one of those bitches who would have been mean to Harry.

**Badger Lord**:  Yes, there is someone like Staci in every class, isn't there?  J

_Chapter Two_

Staring at the clock, Harry tried to mentally wish the second hand to move faster.  In fact, Harry wouldn't be terribly unhappy if the minute hand would move faster as well, quite the opposite.  As boring at his arithmetic lesson was (and it was tedious), Harry wouldn't mind so much except for the fact that Malcolm was poking him in the back of the neck with the eraser on his pencil.  Earlier, Harry had tried to stop the torture by turning around and breaking Malcolm's pencil in half.  He now had detention with Miss Hudson and half of the class, especially Staci Bree and her cronies, thought Harry was a freak prone to random outbursts of insanity.  Miss Hudson had given Malcolm a new pencil, and now it was worse than it had been all day.  The look that Dudley had given him, however, made Harry think that maybe he should be wishing the hands on the clock to be going slower.  The Dursleys were not going to be happy that Harry had detention tomorrow night and Dudley seemed to think Harry needed punishment for such an infraction on his friend, Malcolm.  In the book (if Dudley even read books) that meant leisurely activity, and partaking in hobbies meant Harry Hunting.

"If train A leaves the station in London at nine o'clock in the morning, going 100 kilometers an hour, and train B leaves the station in Stratford-Upon-Avon at nine-thirty, going 100 kilometers an hour, when will they meet?" said Miss Hudson.

_Probably with a messy bang in Oxford_, thought Harry, cynically.  Honestly, who cared about trains, anyway?  Harry had never been on one in his life and part of himself wished to tell Miss Hudson so, but the fact that he already had detention kept Harry silent.  From across the room, Harry watched The Run Girls talking in whispers that Miss Hudson didn't seem to notice.  She was too busy helping Dudley with something he didn't understand.  If Harry knew his cousin, she was going to be there for awhile.

"Potter," hissed Malcolm, poking him at the nape of his neck and moving to flick Harry behind his ear.  Harry tried to ignore him.  "Potter," Malcolm hissed a little louder, "I know you can hear me."

"What do you want?" muttered Harry, writing random numbers down on his notebook paper to at least look like he was doing the problem.

"Can Dudley's parents afford plastic surgery?"

"Why?"

"Because you're going to need it after we get through with you this afternoon."

Harry rolled his eyes.  They were going to have to catch him first.  Granted, they always seemed to find him when he ran away, but Dudley's gang was full of big boys and Harry was much faster than they were.  He started to think over all the places he could hide when class let out.

Pondering how sad and pathetic this was, Harry skimmed over the possible places that he could run to for shelter before Gordon, who was the fastest of the five, could catch him.  It was only two weeks into September and Harry had already been beaten up by Dudley and his gang twice.  The first time was only the second day of school when Dudley seemed irritated that Harry was in his class again.  Piers had tackled him and held his arms back halfway home while Dudley pummeled him, clearly pleased with himself.  Uncle Vernon pretended not to notice the bruises on Harry's face and arms when he got home.  The second time was thanks to Staci, who it turned out Dudley _did have a crush on.  Apparently, she wasn't allowed to tell Harry that he needed to go shopping, because as soon as Dudley saw the two conversing, he tried to show off by punching Harry right in the nose, causing his glasses to break again.  Shoving said glasses up the bridge of his nose, Harry decided to go for the kitchens.  He could easily slip out in the confusion and excitement that crowded the halls at the end of a school day._

Five minutes were left of class when Miss Hudson returned to the front to explain the solution of the problem to them and assign homework.  Piers turned around to first grin at Harry in a way that seemed he knew exactly what was going to happen after the bell rang, and then back at Malcolm.  The boys winked at each other, and Harry gritted his teeth as Malcolm started shoving his eraser into Harry's spine, causing him to squirm.

_One more day_, Harry told himself.  _One more day of this and then you have the whole weekend ahead of you_.  The pep talk did very little.  Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would probably have loads of chores for Harry to do to keep him occupied, but at least he wouldn't have to sit behind Piers and in front of Malcolm for two days.  Dudley might not be around, either, because Dennis had told him that Staci Bree lived just a block away - her backyard looked right into the Dursleys - and Dudley would want to go over and visit if she was ever going to be his girlfriend (_yeah, right_).

Shoving his things in his bag before the bell even rang, Harry prepared himself for the sprint out of the classroom door.  As soon as it sounded, he shot up out of his seat and shoved through the congestion into the hallway, practically knocking Miss Hudson over in the process.  From somewhere behind him, he could hear cackling that must have belonged to Dudley's gang, and Staci Bree announcing that running was so unattractive.

Rounding the corner leading to the kitchens and the cafeteria, Harry could hear heavy footsteps pounding behind him, probably Gordon, and he tried to run faster to avoid Dudley's gang.  Gordon's job was to catch him, and if Harry didn't hurry, Gordon would be holding him down until Dudley and Piers showed up.  Dennis and Malcolm would snigger off to the side while Piers took the job of holding Harry's arms back while Dudley slugged him.  In a desperate attempt upon hearing Gordon's voice, Harry ran outside to the school yard and made a wild jump behind the trash cans outside the kitchen doors.  He closed his eyes, waiting for Gordon to find him, but nothing happened, and Harry decided to chance taking a look.

Opening his eyes, Harry gasped and clenched his fingers around the chimney of the school kitchens.  What was he doing on the roof?  How had he gotten here?  He had just gotten outside; he couldn't have possibly jumped _that_ high.  From below, he could hear Gordon kicking around the trash cans.

"I just saw him come out here," came Gordon's voice.  "Where is he?"

"He couldn't have gotten that far," said a second voice.  Dennis Mosier.

"He _just came out here.  Dudley's going to be pissed."_

"Where is he?" said Dudley, apparently joining his friends.

"I don't know!" said Gordon, irritated.  "He just ran out here, and now he's gone.  I've looked behind anything he could have hidden behind.  It was like he just disappeared."

Harry couldn't help laughing, even if he didn't know how he got up here, much less how he was going to get back down.  He would worry about that later, once Dudley and his gang had left to either look for him somewhere else or to go home.  Unfortunately, he didn't have to worry about that very long.

"Why's that kid on the roof?" said a loud voice.  Harry winced.

"How'd he get up there?" seethed Gordon, who had walked far enough back now to see Harry perched on the chimney.

"I'm going to get Mrs. Lipton," said Malcolm, disappearing from view.  Harry shifted and tried looking for a way down before the headmistress came out and saw this.  He had a feeling she wasn't going to think this at all amusing, and he imagined that this accident was going to merit a few more detentions.

Still wondering how he was going to get out of this one, a ladder appeared at the side of the roof, and a few minutes later, so did the school janitor.  In a foul mood to be retrieving Harry from the roof, he grumbled as he got Harry down, and carried off his ladder while Harry was left only to be greeted by Mrs. Lipton.  Her grey hair was pulled into a tight knot at the nape of her neck, and she had both hands on her hips, look sternly at Harry in what was probably the most disapproving look he had ever been on the receiving end of.

"Harry Potter," she snapped, "follow me."

To the right, Dudley's gang sniggered as he was led inside the very doors he had dashed out of before ending up on the roof.  Following the winding corridors, Harry stayed on Mrs. Lipton's heels as they walked into the school office, past the secretary who looked at Harry sympathetically.  Yanking the door open, Mrs. Lipton entered and let it fall back, almost smacking Harry in the face as he barely caught it.  She motioned to a row of chairs opposite her desk and she sat down in her own.  Harry took the second chair from the left.

"Explain what just happened," she said, simply.

"I - er - don't really know," said Harry, swallowing hard.  "My cousin - we don't get along - and I was trying to get away from him when I jumped behind the trash cans right outside the kitchen doors."

"What were you doing on the roof?"

"I don't know.  I jumped and then - I was just there."

"This is no time to be making up stories.  I suggest you tell me what really happened if you don't want me to call your parents."

"My aunt and uncle," Harry corrected.

"Why should I call your aunt and uncle instead of your parents?"

"Because I live with my aunt and uncle," Harry said, avoiding the looks that usually came after, "My parents are dead."

"How did you get on the roof?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me the truth."

"I am.  I don't know how I got on the roof."

Huffing, she said, "That's it.  Give me your telephone number."

Not knowing what to say even if he would have lied to her, Harry reluctantly gave her the number to the Dursleys.  There was no good explanation for what had just happened.  Harry supposed he must have been caught by the wind when he tried to jump, but Mrs. Lipton scowled at him as if he were being stupid on purpose, and punched in the last of the numbers.

The conversation was very short, Mrs. Lipton telling the Dursleys that Harry had been caught climbing school buildings.  Discovering that it was, unfortunately, Uncle Vernon who had answered by the roaring of his voice, Harry sulked in his chair.  When Mrs. Lipton curtly hung up the phone, she turned her attention back to Harry, told him he had a week's worth of detention, and told him to stay where he was.  Uncle Vernon would be coming to pick him up.

Harry didn't know what was worse:  waiting for Uncle Vernon and speculating what he would do upon arrival, or actually having Uncle Vernon show up.  He was very polite to Mrs. Lipton, extremely red in the face, and he looked like he was having trouble breathing, as he wrenched Harry out of his chair by his arm and dragged him out to the car.  Struggling to keep his bag over his shoulder, Harry heaved when Uncle Vernon shoved him in the back seat of the car, only to see Dudley smirking at him from the passenger seat.

"Climbing buildings, Harry?" said Dudley, as Uncle Vernon got in the driver seat and started the car.

"I don't want to talk about it," muttered Harry, shifting his attention onto the tattered remains of his bag.  Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry thought of how he was going to have to get a new one soon.  That meant carefully planting the idea in Dudley's head that he would need a new one, because the Dursleys never bought Harry anything, much less after a stunt like this one.

"Cupboard," said Uncle Vernon the moment they stepped in the door.  Harry, still thinking about how he was going to make Dudley believe he needed a new bag, gaped at Uncle Vernon, his eyes wide.  A meaty fist curled around his skinny arm and Harry struggled to keep his balance as the door to his cupboard was wrenched open, Harry was thrown inside, and the door slammed shut.  "_That is for climbing school buildings!"_

"I wasn't climbing school buildings!" Harry cried, through the locked door of his cupboard.  "I was trying to jump behind the trash cans outside the doors of the kitchens!  I don't know how I got on the roof!"

"Don't tell lies," Uncle Vernon shouted back at him.  Harry could hear Dudley snigger.

"He's got detention tomorrow, too, for assaulting Malcolm," Dudley told his father.  There was barely any time for Harry to marvel at the fact Dudley knew the word 'assault' before Uncle Vernon started yelling at him again for having six detentions.

"And this weekend," his uncle continued to roar, "you will be helping Mrs. Figg in her vegetable garden on Saturday, and doing yard work on Sunday!  No meals tonight _or tomorrow!"_

Harry could hear Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps move away and Dudley stomped up the staircase, causing dust to rattle from overhead.  Pounding his fist once on the cupboard door, Harry sunk to the floor and clutched his knees to his chest.  He had missed both breakfast and lunch today, and was counting on dinner, even if it wouldn't be as much as he'd like.  That was two days without meals, then.  Even school wouldn't be an escape.  The Dursleys would never give him money for lunch, and Dudley wouldn't allow anyone to give Harry food.

Glad that Uncle Vernon had at least locked him in with his school books, Harry had nothing else to do but to begin on his homework.  It may have been years, and Harry may have been an expert on amusing himself to pass time, but things got tedious when you were locked away in a cupboard.  Working on his arithmetic problems, most of which had to do with trains, Harry fumed inside.  Why did these things always have to happen to him?

*****

Burying his face in his hands, Harry tried not to cry.

"Oh no.  Is Potter going to cry?" sneered Piers, who had been diligently watching Kevin along with the rest of Dudley's gang.

"Leave me alone," muttered Harry.  It seemed, however, that Kevin would not be abated.

The day after Harry's appearance on the roof had been nothing short of hell.  By now, everyone and their sister had heard about what happened, and Miss Hudson had been curiously watching Harry from the corner of her eye all morning.  Now, at lunch in the cafeteria all too close to where it had began and without the close surveillance of teachers, the boys had really started to dig in.

For ten minutes straight, Dudley had gone on about how angry Uncle Vernon had been.  Kevin seemed to think it was amusing, finding out that Harry had been denied meals, as he kept bringing the subject up.  Trying to ignore him, Harry stared at the table top and held his head in his hands, trying to ignore the headache he had formed from going without food.  It wasn't that terrible; Harry was used to these headaches, though that wasn't saying much.  Laughing loudly, Kevin flicked the fourth spoonful of his chocolate pudding into Harry's hair.

"Leave him alone," said Amanda, glaring at Kevin.

"I'm just sharing my dessert," said Kevin, innocently.  "I'm sure he's starving."

"You just stop that now," replied Amanda, grabbing the plastic spoon out of Kevin's hand and cracking it in half.  Nikki grabbed his pudding cup and squeezed the contents out onto Kevin's head.

"That's for being an ugly git," said Nikki, as Dudley threatened to tell on her.  When all she did was flip him off, Dudley sent Piers to get a teacher.

"I'm going to get you back for that," said Kevin, trying to comb the dessert out of his hair.

"You deserved it," said Amanda.

"Harry deserved what he got," said Dudley.

"Why?" said Nikki.

"Because he's a freak," said Kevin.

"Define 'freak,'" said Amanda.

"Look at him!  Look at his _clothes!  Look at his __glasses!  Look at his _hair_!"_

"And he's got that weird scar," added David.

"That's no reason to throw pudding at him," said Nikki.  "I don't like _you, but you don't see me throwing desserts around!"_

"You just did!" shouted Kevin.

"That was because you asked for it," said Nikki, as one of the lunch proctors came over and took Nikki by the arm.  Harry assumed she was about to receive some sort of disciplinary action, and he felt guilty for getting her into trouble.

"Git," muttered Kevin.

"You just be quiet," said Amanda.  "If not liking someone because they're a freak is reason enough to throw food at them, then I may just dump my entire lunch on you.  Just because Harry's a freak doesn't mean that you can be nasty to him."

Amanda snatched her lunch bag, and smacked Kevin and Dudley over the back of the head with it before heading to the trash cans.  The glare in Dudley's eyes suggested that he was going to sic Gordon on her when there weren't so many teachers around.  Harry felt less guilty about this, being that Amanda was one of The Run Girls, and though Harry was faster, Amanda had never been beaten up by anyone.

When they were dismissed for recess, Harry headed for the lavatory instead of the schoolyard.  Staring at himself in the mirror, Harry tried to finger comb the pudding out of his hair, and after getting most of it, Harry turned on the tap and proceeded to dunk his head under the stream of water.  Working the pudding out, Harry ran his fingers through his hair, squeezed out the excess water, and started to use paper towels on it.  Wishing injury or extreme pain on Dudley and Kevin, Harry managed to get his hair clean, and once he was no longer dripping water all over the place, he went outside.

"You know that kid in our class," Harry heard Kristy Grover telling the rest of Staci's gang.  They were standing a few meters away from the swings, and Harry, leaning against the wall of the school, could hear them very well.

"Which kid?" asked Staci.

"I don't know.  I think his name is Richard.  He wears really bad clothes and has big glasses that make him look like a bug."  Kristy demonstrated this point by forming circles around her eyes with her forefinger and her thumb.  Harry sighed, pushing said glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, I know who you mean," said Staci, while the other girls nodded.  "His name isn't Richard.  It's Clarence."

"I thought it was Marcel," said Staci's twin, Jennifer.

"No, it's Richard," said Kristy.

"I thought it was Benji," said Mindy Sanford.

"I thought it was Clarence, too," said Sara, who was wearing a completely different outfit (one that actually matched) than what Harry had seen in class before lunch.  That must have been what was in the shopping bag Staci was carrying around with her.

"It is Clarence," said Staci.  "I know what you heard.  It's about the trash, right?"

"Yeah," said Kristy.

"What about trash?" said Mindy, scrunching up her nose.  Sara imitated the face.

"Well, Clarence was running from that fat boy that's always looking at me," said Staci.  "And he went to jump behind trash cans -"

"Ew," said Jennifer.  "What was he doing around _trash_?"

"How should _I_ know?  What do _I_ know about _trash_?"

"Good point," said Jennifer, still looking disgusted.

"Anyway, he went to jump behind trash, and then he was - like - on the roof."

"Ew," said Mindy.  "What was he doing on the roof?  Aren't roofs dirty?"

"How should _I_ know?  What would _I know about the _roof_?"_

"Good point," said Mindy.

"Oh gods!" said Staci, pointing at Harry.  She swaggered over to him, the rest of her gang following with Sara jerking her hips from side to side, trying to look like Staci.   "It's Clarence!"

"No, it's _Richard_," said Kristy.

"I thought it was Marcel," said Jennifer.

"Benji!" said Mindy.

"It's Clarence," said Staci, sighing, tossing her hair.  Sara nodded and tossed her dirty blonde hair, too.  "Hi, Clarence."

Harry looked hard at her, pressing his lips together.  Then, meekly, he said, "My name's Harry."

"What?" said Staci, frowning.  "No, that doesn't sound right.  Well, anyway, Clarence is an icky name."

"Marcel," said Jennifer.

"Benji," said Mindy.

"_Richard," said Kristy._

"Harry," said Harry, nodding, as if it would get the point across clearer.

"No," said Staci, shaking her head.  "That doesn't sound right.  Well, now you're name is - Jason.  Jason . . . wait, okay, what's your last name?"

Somehow, Harry didn't think it would matter what his last name was.

"Potter," he answered slowly.

"Jason Potter?" she said, scrunching up her nose.  "Who would name their kid Jason Potter?"

"My name isn't Jason.  It's Harry."

"Jason, Jason, Jason . . ." she said, tapping her cheek with her index finger and frowning.  "Well, Potter has to go.  It's so -"

"Plain," finished Kristy.

"Plain," echoed Sara.

"Fine.  Jason . . . no last name.  You can be like Madonna.  One name says it all."  Staci imitated the hand motions that Harry had heard her telling Sara was to a song called 'Vogue.'

"My name's Harry," he repeated.

"Whatever, Jason," said Staci, tossing her hair, and brushing past him.  Sara tossed her hair and followed.  Jennifer, Mindy, and Kristy looked hard at Harry before following after their leader.

"Hi," said Nikki, coming up to him with Amanda, and for a brief moment, Harry feared that Nikki was about to call him Clarence.

"Hi," he said.

"I just wanted to tell you that I think Kevin is a buggered up arsehole."

Amanda giggled at Nikki's cursing, and glanced around to see if any teachers were nearby.

"Did you get the pudding out?" asked Amanda.  Harry nodded.

"You didn't get in trouble, did you?"

"I got a pink slip," said Nikki.  "No big deal.  I'm actually very excited.  It was my first one ever, and Amanda and I have been trying to get one since they were instituted in third year."

"I'm jealous," said Amanda.  "I tried to get in trouble for breaking his spoon, but only Nikki got in trouble."

"She's bummed," added Nikki.

"Did you really end up on the roof?"

Biting his bottom lip, Harry nodded.  "Er - yeah.  I don't know how.  I just - did."

"Why are you talking to him," said Dudley, and Harry was roughly elbowed aside as his cousin stepped in front of him.

"Hey, Wide-Load, get outta the way.  I was talking to Harry," said Nikki.

"You aren't supposed to talk to him."

"I'll talk to whoever I want to talk to, fat-arse."

"I'm not fat," said Dudley, sneering, as he was joined by the remainder of the gang.  They loomed behind him, looking unpleasant.  "I'm big-boned."

"No one's bones are _that_ big," said Amanda.  Nikki looked around on the ground, grabbed a stick, and poked Dudley in the stomach with it.  Amanda's upper lip curled up and her nose wrinkled, looking a lot like Staci when talking about trash.

"Ew, look at his fat jiggle," said Nikki, laughing.  "That is _definitely not bone."_

Dudley grabbed the stick out of Nikki's hand, and for a moment, Harry thought he was going to hit her with it.  Instead, Dudley broke the stick in half and threw it at Amanda, who was laughing at him.

"Shut up," said Dudley.

"Shut up?  That's the best you can come up with?" said Amanda, who had allowed the stick to fall next to her.

"Of course that's all he can up with.  He's so stupid that those fat friends of his probably had to whisper it in his ear, too," said Nikki.

"We aren't fat, and I'm not stupid," said Dudley.  "Harry's a freak.  _You're the stupid ones.  Only a stupid person would talk to a loser like Harry."_

"At least Harry isn't as big a loser as you are," said Nikki, and Harry noticed that Dudley was starting to go the same shade Uncle Vernon went just before throwing Harry in his cupboard.  Amanda must have noticed, too, because she tugged on Nikki's sleeve.

"_Nikki," said Amanda.  Nikki ignored her._

"And you are stupid.  You're stupid enough to think _I'm_ the idiot."

"Gordon," said Dudley, and all it took was saying his name, and clenching his fists.  It didn't take Harry's keen sense to be able to tell when Dudley wanted to hit someone to know that he wanted to strangle Nikki.

Exchanging looks, Nikki and Amanda both said, "Run!"

They took off across the schoolyard, and Gordon waited for a nod from Dudley before tearing off after them.  Sneering at Harry, Dudley kicked him in the shin, and looked around until he spotted Staci.  That hungry look was in his eyes again as he left, and walked over to the object of his affections.

Leaning back against the wall, Harry first watched Dudley talking to Staci, who was inching away from him and holding Kristy in front of her like some ritual sacrifice.  Glancing the other way, Harry saw Gordon trudging back in the direction of Dudley's gang.  Just beyond where he was, Nikki and Amanda were peeking out of a few bushes, their heads just barely visible beneath all the green.  Sliding down to the ground, he began to think of things he could do tonight before going to bed.  He had to get up early tomorrow, after all.  Mrs. Figg needed help in her vegetable garden, and Aunt Petunia had volunteered Harry for it.  He could hardly wait.

**Will be updated when it's updated.****  Once again, writing this as I post, a rarity, so if you have any ideas for what you'd like to see happen to Harry, let me know.**


	4. Sandrine

**Penname**:  Kiara

**Title**:  Little Whinging Primary

**Email**:  angeldlsm00@hotmail.com, lavenderrain00@hotmail.com

**If you want to be notified of when this is updated, the email is angeldlsm01@hotmail.com.  Let me know that its Little Whinging Primary you want to be notified for, otherwise you'll be notified for my story, Falling.**

**AIM**:  LavnderRain00, FoxyD227 – feel free to IM me.

**Disclaimer:  **See chapter one.

**Lela Potter**:  Don't worry about the double review.  Glad you liked the story.  Hope you like this chapter, too.

**IamallthatisHarryPotter**:  Ladies and gentlemen, the _real_ Staci.  *claps wildly*  You know this is written for you, hun.  Doesn't it feel good?  So this is the second story I've written for you (Family Affair being the first, of course), so let us hope I actually finish this one.

**Rowenna**:  For the longest time I've wanted to read a story like this.  I wanted one where Harry was a wimpy little kid in primary school, getting picked on by Dudley.  They all were kind of flat.  Like you said, no one liked Harry in them.  Yes, JK has said Harry had no friends, but that's from Harry's point of view.  Maybe he felt like he didn't have any friends, but I doubt that no one ever talked to him.  And I made it girls because at that age, I think a girl is more likely to talk to Harry and be against Dudley than a boy would be.  As for basing my characters on people, yes, there is one on myself.  How could I just base my characters on friends and family without sticking myself in there?  Hell, Staci and Jennifer (Bree) are my sisters in real life, and those are their real names, too.  Even Sara was a friend of theirs.  Sadly, the character I based on myself is Amanda Graves, Nikki's sidekick, who can't think for herself.  I'm brutally realizing just how brainwashed I was as a child as I write this story.  What can I say?  Nikki was all talk, and I had to run from big kids with bikes for it.  *smiles*

**_Chapter Three:  Sandrine_**

Harry had, begrudgingly, walked the two streets over to Mrs. Figg's house on the Saturday morning after the pudding incident with Kevin at school.  Though it hadn't been as terrible as Harry had expected, he spent most of the day in the hot sun, wondering why it was warm outside when it was already mid-September and should start getting breezy.  He had tossed his hair out of his eyes for hours, brushing it away from where it clung to his forehead and his scar.  She had been incredibly kind, bringing him lemonade while she walked around her garden in large khaki pants, a bright pink t-shirt, and a large, wide-brimmed hat.  Of course, her insanely large number of cats had also been present, and Harry had heard all about them, everything from Tufty's cold to Mr. Paws's temperamental mood swings.

"And this beauty," said Mrs. Figg, signaling over to the porch where a pure-white cat was basking in the sun on one of her patio chairs, "is Sandrine.  That dear girl, Staci Bree, brought her to me a few weeks ago.  You know her, don't you?  I believe she lives right behind the Dursley house."

"Staci's in my class at school," supplied Harry, pulling out a radish and eyeing the white fluff of fur.

"Well, she seemed to think I needed a - what did she call it?  Oh, yes.  A more elegant, sophisticated pet.  Sandrine is a bit of a snob, but the others seemed to get along with her well enough.  Spends all day lounging, especially on the red velvet cushion that Staci brought her to me on."

That was Staci, all right.  From what Harry had observed of her demeanor, he wouldn't put it past her to have sincerely thought that Mrs. Figg needed help in acquiring her cats.  As annoying as she was, Harry couldn't help but think that at least her heart was in the right place, even if she was calling him Jason.  At least she was talking to him, and in a manner that didn't involve the words slaughter, run, or break.  Her intentions, however, though noble, were slightly misguided.  The small smile, which tugged at the corners of Mrs. Figg's lips, indicated that she thought the same.

It wasn't right to complain about that day with Mrs. Figg because he hadn't had one that came even close to being as nice since then.  Sunday was awful.  Dudley had gotten into a foul mood before breakfast even started, and it only increased when he discovered that his friends couldn't hang around the back yard today.  Harry suspected that Dudley wanted to keep an eye on Staci's house, and that his bad mood was a result yielded from his expedition over to the Bree home yesterday.  How could Dudley not see that Staci wasn't even remotely interested?

Pretending to cry, Dudley had thrown one of his tantrums and even overturned the kitchen table by the time Uncle Vernon pushed Harry out the back door, toward the shed.  He had to mow the lawn, weed, and start preparing Aunt Petunia's flower garden (that Harry maintained more than she did) for winter.  Dudley, fully intent on getting back at Harry for ruining his afternoon of Staci-gazing, came out shortly after lunch with Malcolm, and the two mocked him about everything from his clothes to his scar until their game got old and they fell back into hitting him, only stopping when Petunia called them in for dinner.  There was no dinner for Harry that night, and he had to sneak out of his cupboard after everyone was asleep to eat enough so that he could get through the next day at school without passing out, but not so much that the Dursleys would notice.

School all week long had been nothing short of torture.  David had learning how to make a paper clip arrow, and he was launching them at Harry from Monday through Friday, laughing whenever one stabbed Harry in an open piece of flesh.  Not even Nikki and Amanda had come to his refuge.  They had decided at the beginning of the week that they weren't talking to anyone, and had taken to drawing some sort of plans and sketches during their recess.  In Staci Bree's mind, and anyone else who followed in her gang, Harry's name had officially become Jason despite any attempts he made to inform her of his real identity.  Dudley . . . well, Dudley was Dudley, and the fighting never ended.  By the time the bell rang, Harry was almost longing for his cupboard, but he still had detentions to work off, and he was forced to stay behind with Miss Hudson.

The only good thing about that week at the end of September was that the Dursleys were letting him eat again, though in smaller portions that before.  Harry wasn't complaining.  After his stomach protesting for days, he was glad to finally have something in it that wasn't nicked.  If he wasn't at school for class or detention, Harry was locked away in his cupboard, only allowed out for meals and the bathroom, his punishment until his detentions were completed.

Aside from doing homework, those long hours in his cupboard gave Harry time to think.  He thought about everything from Mrs. Figg and her cats to Staci Bree and the charity she tried to bestow upon those she thought to be less fortunate in her own, odd way.  He analyzed every member of his class, from Jennifer Bree to Gordon Turner.  He wondered about Nikki and Amanda, what they were doing, and how much it was going to make Dudley want Gordon to catch them so he could pound the last breath of oxygen out of them.  The last thing that had happened before their silence, never a good thing with a dream team like The Run Girls, was the fight with Kevin and Dudley, after all.

More than anything, and probably more than he ever had before in his life, Harry thought of his parents.  Who were they?  What did they look like?  He had never seen photographs of them, and they were never talked about by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.  The only things they had supplied him with was that their names were Lily and James, and they died in a car crash when Harry was only fifteen months old.  He also knew that he had been in the car crash when they died, but miraculously survived, leaving only the scar on his forehead.

It was times when he was locked in his cupboard, away from the world, that Harry wondered how different his life would be away from the Dursleys.  Something wonderful and extraordinary had to be out there for him; he just knew it.  There had to be more to life than being locked away in a cupboard with only spiders for company.  He had heard about love in books, and in movies, and on television, but Harry had never felt it.  He had never known (that he could remember, anyway), a mother's touch.  You weren't just left to live life like that, were you?  Something else had to be out there.  It was the feeling that something was missing, something important, that kept him from falling apart as it was.

It was with such an attitude that he sulked into classes on the last Friday of September, his last day of detention for being found on the school roof.  Trying to detach himself, not to allow his small, ten-year old heart feel any pain when the inevitable paper clips came flying at him from David's direction.  He told himself that at least it wasn't Kevin sitting back there, and that it was only a slight sting on his skin.  It wasn't painful, physically, anyway, and Harry was determined not to let it be emotionally painful, either.

_Just keep on going_, Harry told himself, over and over again.

"Hi, Jason," Staci had said during recess.  Her gang echoed the greeting.

"Hello," replied Harry, not bothering to correct her.

"How are you?" she asked, eyeing his baggy pants, oversized cotton shirt, and round glasses held together by tape.

"Fine," answered Harry.  Best to make his answers short and simple.  Staci responded to them better that way, and they always seemed to make her go away faster.  That was always a good thing in Harry's book.

"When was the last time you went shopping?" she asked, tossing her head, and her hair in the process.

"And cut your hair?" added Jennifer.

"And _bathed_?" added Kristy.

"Kristy," said Mindy.  "He doesn't _smell.  You should ask that to the fat boy who follows Staci around."_

"Sorry," said Kristy.  "He looks dirty."

"I am dirty," replied Harry.  Staci, Jennifer, Mindy, and Kristy took a step away from him, holding their hands up as if they were afraid he would infect them.  Sara looked at the other four girls and threw her hands up, smacking herself in the chest, and taking one awkward step back.

"Ew," said Mindy.

"Grimy, much?" said Jennifer.

"Haven't you ever heard of soap?" added Kristy.

"I _bathe," said Harry.  "Just not every night."_

"I shower twice a day," said Staci.

"Me too," said Sara, nodding so hard it looked like her head would pop off her neck.

"Doesn't that - like - waste water?" said a high, shrilly voice, and the girls turned around to see Nikki, giggling, batting her eyelashes, and tossing her hair once every six seconds.

"Not if you're using it to be clean," said Staci, cocking her head to the side, tossing her hair, and not even picking up on the insult.

Nikki and Amanda made high pitched laughs, batted their eyelashes so fast it looked like they wouldn't even be able to see, and Amanda paused to wink at Harry before they walked away.  Clutched in Nikki's hand was a rolled up piece of paper, and she brandished it at Amanda for not joining her right away, causing Amanda to bite her lip and nod.

"She is so mean," said Staci.  "That poor Amy girl."

"Her name is Amanda," said Harry, though he wasn't quite sure why.  Staci would just change it to Amy, anyway, he thought.  Instead, to his surprise, Staci said, "That's right!"

"What?" said Harry.

"Amanda!  I don't know why I thought it was Amy.  Still, that Nicole girl is very mean to her.  Unfortunately, she's a good dresser, so I can't dislike her too terribly much.  You know?" she said, flipping her hair.

Harry, grimacing, decided just to nod.

The day hadn't gotten worse, but it hadn't gotten better, and everything staying stagnant was almost worse, because Harry didn't have any variety after lunch and recess.  Sitting back in Miss Hudson's classroom, Malcolm continued to poke Harry in the neck with his eraser, occasionally pinching the exposed flesh.  David was still shooting his paper clips across the room, smacking Harry anywhere from his cheek (where one dangerously almost grazed his eye), his neck, and his arms.  The sting was temporary, short, but then one would fling again, and Harry was aware of Anthony Lundin, who sat before David, silently cracking up at this display, and that was what made Harry's face turn bright red as the bell neared.

Detention hadn't been awful, sitting in silence as Miss Hudson went about grading homework assignments, quizzes, or whatever it was that teachers did at their computers all the time.  Only when there was thirty minutes left did she cover over, turn Piers's chair around to face Harry, and sat down across from him at his desk.

"Do you mind if we talk for a bit, Harry?" she asked, carefully.

Shrugging, Harry shook his head.  "I don't mind."

"Harry," she started, looking first at his glass, his shirt, his pants, and then his shoes, "how long have you known Dudley?"

"For as long as I can remember," he answered, honestly.  She seemed slightly frustrated.

"I know it must seem like that, but how old were you?  Was it when you first started school here?"

"No," said Harry, plainly.  "Dudley's my cousin."

"Your cousin," she repeated, trying not to look as surprised as Harry imagined she must have felt.  He supposed she had a right.  Dudley and Harry's feuds never did come off as the image of a perfect, happy family.  "I take it you don't get along."

"We never really have."

"Harry - this aunt and uncle you live with - are they related on the same side as Dudley."

She really didn't have a clue.

"I live with Dudley.  They're his parents."

No use lying.  She was bound to find out eventually, and he wasn't surprised that she hadn't known before now.  The Dursleys had always been very good about concealing their relationship to Harry, and Dudley never wanted to speak of it in front of others unless he was trying to win someone over with the sympathy card.  In fact, many of Harry's teachers had only found out that Dudley and Harry lived together, much less were related, when Harry had gotten in trouble and a conference was required with his guardians.

"But, I met them at the open house.  They never said a word."

"And?"

Her young face looked slightly worried, her honey blonde, almost brown locks cascading gently around her face.  For a moment, Harry thought she was beautiful.  He had never seen this before.  Pity was what usually resulted when his teachers learned about the Dursleys.  Some of them even seemed to take to the intense dislike of him that the rest of his classmates did.  Sometimes, Harry even thought they were afraid of him, like he was a dangerous boy because of his glasses and clothes, about to hurt someone at any second.  Miss Hudson, though, didn't look at him like that.  She was concerned, and Harry shifted in his chair, his cheeks suddenly flushing.

"Harry, have you thought about talking to one of the school counselors?  You seem to . . . things don't seem like they're making you too happy.  I hate seeing one of my students struggle, and I'm talking academically as well as emotionally."

"I'm not struggling," said Harry, plainly.  "I don't want to talk to a counselor.  I don't need a counselor.  I'm not a freak."

Her expression softened.

"I didn't mean that you were a freak.  I've noticed that you don't have many friends -"

_Any friends, you mean_, thought Harry, mournfully.

"-and I think you would benefit from having someone to talk to.  Not just about your feelings or your cousin, but also about things like football, or to play games with.  Someone just to talk to.  If you don't want to talk to one of the counselors, you can always come to me."

"I don't need therapy," said Harry.

"I never said that you did.  You don't have to make a decision right away.  You can think it over if you'd like."

Think it over.  Right.  Like _that_ was going to happen.

"Harry," she said again, and Harry braced himself for what he knew was coming, "I don't mean to implore, and if I offend you, just say so.  We should be honest with each other.  I don't only want to be your teacher -"

"You want to be my friend," he finished.  He'd heard that one before, too.

She seemed frustrated, linking her fingers together and staring down at her hands.  Harry sighed.

"Sorry.  S'just that I get that a lot."

"No reason for you to be apologizing," said Miss Hudson, smiling broadly at him.  Harry couldn't fight the corners of his lips as they returned the sentiment with an impish sort of grin.  "Right then, Chuckles," she teased, and though Harry knew what she was doing in trying to get close to him, he allowed himself to laugh anyway.  It had been too long as is.

"You want to know what happened to my parents, right?" said Harry, and her happy expression turned somber.  "Don't worry.  Everyone asks when they find out I live with Dudley.  No one can understand why I'd live with Dudley's family if I have to dress like this and fight with him all the time.  You aren't the first."

"I think you're guarding yourself from me."

"I don't know you very well," said Harry.

"Of course, but being your teacher, I'd like you to trust me."

"I do.  Sort of.  The thing with my parents is, whenever people see me, all my teachers think that I must be abused or something because I'm so skinny, or that I'm not properly taken care of cause of my clothes.  I'm fine where I am.  Really."  Liar, Harry hissed at himself.  "They think that if I live with the Dursleys, then my parents must be really bad."

Miss Hudson nodded.  It had been no joke when Harry said she wasn't the first.  His first year teacher had thought that Harry was beaten by his parents, taken away from them to live with his relatives, who, in her eyes, weren't much better.  She hadn't liked Dudley very much at all.  Another one of his teachers, second year, worshiped Dudley, and thought that Harry's parents must have been alcoholics or drug addicts, but that Harry should count his lucky stars he lived with the Dursleys.

He had heard it all.  From the look in her eyes, Miss Hudson was expecting the worst.  Probably a murderer for a father, who had beaten Harry as a child, raped some dead sister she didn't know about, and killed his mother before being shipped off to prison, because in cases like this, the convict always seemed to escape death.

"My parents are dead," Harry said, as bluntly as he could make it.  "They weren't criminals.  They weren't rapists.  They weren't drinking too much.  They died in a car crash when I was a baby and I have no other family."

There it was.  It took all of three seconds, the process of digesting the information through her brain, and then Miss Hudson stared at him with more pity than Harry had ever been lavished with before in his life.  It felt dirty, disgusting, and Harry wanted the feeling off of him before it got a chance to infect something.

Miss Hudson said very little to him after that, though most of it was more encouragement to talk to someone.  Now, though, it wasn't to talk about Dudley and the way he was always getting into fights with Kevin.  She thought he needed therapy to deal with his dead parents, as if he hadn't been dealing with it since he could remember.  Harry didn't even want to think about how Miss Hudson would look at him if she knew he didn't even know what his parents looked like.

*****

"Hello, Harry dear," said Mrs. Figg as he returned to the Dursleys from his detention.  "Why back so late?"

"I had detention," he mumbled, stopping before her front yard and shuffling his feet, a bad habit he used to have that Uncle Vernon had tried to cure him of.  It still had a tendency to come back from time to time.

"Oh, yes," said Mrs. Figg, a hint of a smile on her lips.  "That roof incident, wasn't it?  Petunia was telling me all about how you were discovered up there.  Said you wouldn't admit to climbing the building.  She assumed it was for attention."

"The wind caught me," Harry explained, feeling rather stupid.  Mrs. Figg's lips twitched, and held a sort of smile that, to Harry, looked like she was trying to keep something from him.

"Why don't you come inside for dinner?" she suggested.  "I'm making a vegetable stew from the vegetables we gathered on Saturday.  The hard work deserves some sort of profit, don't you think?"

"I don't know.  The Dursleys probably want me back as soon as possible."

"Don't you worry about them.  I'll take care of them."

She must have, anyway, Harry later reflected as he sat in her cabbage smelling living room while she cooked the vegetable stew.  There was one small television in the corner, and on top sat Tibbles, one of Mrs. Figg's cats, napping.  After inviting him in, Mrs. Figg had immediately been on the phone with Aunt Petunia, and after she hung up, she told Harry that if the Dursleys asked, he was assisting her in moving furniture for a bridge party she was holding tomorrow afternoon.  Handing him the remote, she walked into the kitchen.

Having never been in control of the remote before, Harry stared at its many buttons for a long time before finally hitting power.  Breezing through all the channels, Harry couldn't find one that had anything that really caught his eye.  He decided that this had to do with the fact the only television he had ever seen was either one of Dudley's programs, or the news.  Finally settling on a movie that had three little girls who were witches (mostly because the Dursleys hated anything or anyone acting in a way it shouldn't), Harry tried to make himself comfortable until dinner.

"Excellent choice," said Mrs. Figg, coming into the room and taking Tibbles off the television.  "Don't sit on there when we have company.  It's time for you to eat, anyway.  Go on.  And don't fight with Sandrine while you're eating.  She isn't used to things being so common."

One of the strangest things about Mrs. Figg was not how she was always talking to her cats, but how they actually seemed to understand her.  Tibbles seemed to give Mrs. Figg a reluctant, resentful look before arching his back and slinking off into the kitchen.

"Dinner is almost ready, Harry, if you'd like to go wash up."

Though the bread was hard and the cookies for dessert were stale, the stew was wonderful, and Harry was grateful.  He hadn't had a truly decent meal since . . . well, Harry couldn't remember the last time he had a truly decent meal that didn't involve wolfing down a large portion of what was on his plate before Dudley started to pilfer it.  Because it was already getting dark when they were finished eating, Mrs. Figg insisted on walking him back to Privet Drive.

After reassuring Aunt Petunia that he was very helpful and no trouble at all, Mrs. Figg said goodbye and Aunt Petunia sent him to his cupboard.  Locking him in, she called from the outside, "I hope you didn't expect us to keep food just because you were late.  You can eat again in the morning."

Typically, this kind of comment would have made Harry angry, but he was still feeling warm inside from dinner.  Crawling under the covers, Harry tried to go to sleep.  There never was telling what the Dursleys were going to want him to do tomorrow.  Weekends were their only times to use Harry as a servant during the school term, after all.

**If you have any ideas or suggestions, please don't be shy.  Send them my way.  If you liked this, let me know.  You can leave a review, or if you want to contact me in a more personal way, my email and IM screen name are at the top of this chapter.  I promise to get back to you.**


	5. The R Word

**Penname:  **Kiara

**Email**:  angeldlsm00@hotmail.com

**Title**:  Little Whinging Primary

**AOL Instant Messenger**:  LavnderRain00, FoxyD227

**For those select few who have been kind enough to review:**

**Daisy8781**:  I believe that Mrs. Figg is a witch, or at least I wrote her that way.  Alan will help me get through this story.

**Rita Skeeter**:  Excellent name, by the way.  Thanks for the recommendations!  They really helped.  I went through my plans so far and added some things in.  I won't be able to do Aunt Marge, though, because I checked with canon, and Marge's last visit according to POA was the year before Harry got his Hogwarts letters.  There will definitely be more of Miss Hudson interacting with Harry, and Mrs. Figg watching out for Harry.

**Lela Potter**:  Glad you like it.  I wanted to read a story like this rather than write it, but when no one has written what I want to read, I end up writing it myself.  So, you know, here it is.

**Rowenna**:  I plan on doing this until Harry goes to bed, because tomorrow is Dudley's birthday, and he has to go to Mrs. Figg's.  I've thought about going back to where I started the prologue, because I think just leaving it off there would be flat.  Don't know what to do when I go back, though.  Will figure it out.  Have plenty of time.  Keep reading, and I'm glad you like it.

**Disclaimer:  Not JKR.  In fact, I'm American.  So, you know, I don't own Harry Potter, either.  In any way.  My only income is from Hersheypark.**

**Forgive the many mistakes I am bound to make, for once again, I am American.**

_Chapter Four:  The 'R' Word_

If Harry wasn't ready to pack up everything he owned in his little cupboard, which, to be truthful, wasn't much, he certainly would have in mid-October.  Not only was he told that he wasn't to be going trick-or-treating, and would have to hand out the candy to his neighbors and classmates instead, but Dudley had secured his position as classroom freak as best as he ever could.

The second Friday of October was a day of physical education, and though Harry was fairly fast (a talent developed by running from Dudley's gang), he was never picked first for teams.  It wasn't that he was a bad player, or that he didn't try in the games.  Harry wanted to win just as much as the rest of his team did.  The real problem lay in Dudley, who had seemed to make the other kids think that if they were to pick Harry for their team, they would be pulverized by the end of the day.  Reconstruction surgery may be necessary.  This wouldn't be so bad, but for the fact that their teacher, Mr. Albom, didn't like Harry very much.  In fact, he didn't like Dudley very much, either, but that was beside the point.

"Today, we're going to be starting dodge ball," said Mr. Albom.  "You're going to be in four teams for the unit, so the first thing we need to do is to set up team captains."

Harry crossed his fingers, hoping that Mr. Albom would pick him.  They had phys ed with one of the other fifth year classes, Mrs. West's, and they didn't like him, either.  It never got less humiliating to be one of the last people sitting there.

"Team One will have the captains Polly Dixon and Donald Mead," said Mr. Albom, reading off his chart and making marks with a pen.  Polly and Donald walked up to where Mr. Albom was standing before the rest of the class.  "Team Two will be captained by Kevin Edwards and Allison Artist.  Team Three will be captained by Sara Jones and Jimmy Svenning.  Team Four will be captained by Calvin Bruce and Eileen Novak."

The eight captains stood before them, and Harry felt his heart instantly sink.  There was no way he was going to get picked.  He was going to end up as one of the select group that had to be assigned a team by Mr. Albom.

"Poor Sara," he could hear Staci Bree say.  Glancing over at her, Harry almost wanted to laugh.  Her black shorts and bright pink t-shirt never ceased to amuse him during class.  "She's going to have to like, work, and stuff."

"Ew," said Kristy.  "What if this game means we'll . . ." she paused, and Harry wasn't sure if it was for effect of because she really didn't want to say the word.  "What if we do that thing with liquid?"

"You mean sweat?" said Mindy.  Staci swatted her shoulder.

"Don't say that," said Staci.

"That's gross," said Jennifer.  "I can't believe you even said that to us."

"Captains," interrupted Mr. Albom, "you'll be alternating between the two of you picking teams.  We'll go from Team One to Team Four, and then Team Four will pick again so that we go down the line.  Let's start with you, Polly."

The first four to be picked were Shannon Klein for Team One, David McNeil for Team Two, Chris Reb for Team Three, and Andrew Klimkowski for Team Four.  Dudley, Harry was pleased to see, hadn't been picked during the first round.  That all changed in the second, though.  After Becky Uhler and Jeremy Moyer were picked for Teams Four and Three, respectively, Kevin chose Dudley for Team Two, despite Allison's protests.  Heather was instantly chosen for Team One.

In the fourth round of choosing, Sara persuaded Jimmy to pick Staci, and she strutted over to them before asking, "Am I going to have to do that thing with very fast walking in this game?"

"You mean running?" asked Jimmy.  Staci, horrified, covered her ears and wailed.

Nikki went to Team One in the fifth round, as Team Two continued to pick members of Dudley's gang.  Amanda joined Nikki on the same team at the end of the sixth round.  With ten students left without a team, Mr. Albom started assigning them by number, being kind enough to send Piers to Dudley's team, though he purposely separated Kristy from Staci's gang.  This decision caused Harry to end up on Team One as well, embarrassed that he hadn't been chosen.

"Today I just want you to record your team and choose a team name," said Mr. Albom.  "We'll play a short game before the end of class."

Polly and Donald started listing their team members.

"I hate dodge ball," said Amanda.

"I hate sports," said Nikki.

"But I don't mind running."

"Me, either."

"Maybe we'll get to hit Staci in the head," speculated Amanda.  "And Harry can hit Dudley.  It'll be like a dream come true for all parties concerned.  Well, except for Dudley and Staci, but who honestly cares what they say or think?  I know I don't."

"I kind of like Staci," said Harry.  "She's strange, but at least she's nice."

"I don't like her," said Nikki.  "She's a snob."  Amanda nodded in agreement.

"But I like her more than I like Dudley."  Visibly shuddering, Amanda gave a nasty glare at Dudley, who had looked over at them when she said his name.  "What does _he want?  Fat-arsed freak."_

"I think he heard you say his name," said Harry.

"I don't care if he heard me call dinner.  He better get those beady little eyes off of me.  Pervert."

Nikki snickered as Polly tried to encourage the team to pick a name.  After going through things like the Cyclones, and the Mashers, Nikki finally suggested they become The Cereal Killers, and Polly, thinking it was funny, agreed.

Team One played against Team Three the first day, and Staci announced that she was just going to stand off to the side and look pretty when discovering that people were going to be throwing things at her beautiful face.  In fact, she made it a point to threaten anyone who may hit her, because Halloween was coming up, and she wouldn't look beautiful in her costume if she was injured.  When Staci's looks were threatened, no one took her lightly upon announcing possible retaliation.  For purely shallow reasons, Staci Bree meant business.

*****

After mowing the lawn, Harry returned the yard equipment to the shed, and headed into the Dursley house, his stomach clenching upon seeing that Dudley's gang was over.  They were sitting out in front of the house, their bikes lying across the yard, and Harry scowled at them.  When he was slaving away in Dudley's back yard, he was being a priss with his fat, bullying friends.  Brushing the dirt off his pants, Harry was about to head inside when he heard a familiar female voice.

"Do you even ride those or do you just sit with them all day long?"

"They never ride," replied another voice.  "All the extra poundage probably makes it hard to stay on that little seat.  Can you imagine?  It probably gets lost in that large canyon between his bum cheeks."

"Oh, gross!  Why would you even make me think of something like that?"

"I don't know.  That _was really gross, wasn't it?"_

"What are you doing here?" interrupted Dudley.  "This is my house.  Go away."

"Did you buy it?"

"Did you pay for it with your own money?" added the second female voice.

"No," said Dudley, sounding both stupid and irritated.

"Then it isn't really yours, is it?" said the first voice.

"You know, I see them with their bikes all the time.  They never ride them.  They're always just sitting with them, or walking them back and forth between each other's houses."

"Do you even know how to ride?"

"I know how to ride a bike!" said Dudley in a voice Harry noticed as Dudley about to go into a temper tantrum.  That could never be good with Aunt Petunia in such a close range.  Her life would be over if precious baby angel Diddy Duddy-dums was ever unhappy.  Rolling his eyes, Harry went inside to wash his hands.

"Took you an awful long time out there," screeched Aunt Petunia the moment he started digging the dirt out from underneath his nails.  "Go tell Dudley and his friends that their lunch is ready."  She paused, looking at him as if daring to ask when his lunch would be ready.  Refusing to go for the bait, Harry dried his hands on his t-shirt and walked out of the kitchen to the door.

Pushing it open and stepping outside, Harry could see Dudley on his feet, bright red, and sneering at Nikki and Amanda.  They seemed to think something was hysterical, and Harry caught Dudley threatening them before the girls caught sight of him.  He didn't think he was ever going to get used to them being nice to him (as nice as they got), and he felt his face go pink when they waved.

"Hi, Harry," chirped Amanda.

"Hi, Harry," Nikki echoed.

Dudley and his gang spun around, each one with an evil glint in their eyes.

"What do _you_ want?"

"Aunt Petunia said to tell you that lunch is ready."

Normally, Dudley would have gone ravenous and barreled over Harry to get inside, but Nikki and Amanda started snickering.  After passing a few hysterically incoherent references to Dudley's weight and the fact his lunch must be a ten-course meal of boiled fat and pork rinds, Dudley tried taking a swing at Nikki.  She backed away, snickered, and said, "Harry, do you have better aim than your cousin?  I hope so.  _Some_one better."

"Don't talk to him!" wailed Dudley.

"Why?" snapped Amanda.

"Because he's retarded."

Harry frowned, his brows furrowing.

"Very good excuse," said Nikki.

"No, really.  He's retarded."

"Like, actually?" said Amanda.

"He doesn't look retarded," said Nikki.

"He doesn't sound retarded, either."

"He is, though," said Dudley.  "He's only allowed in regular classes because he acts up if I'm not around.  That's why he dresses that way and acts the way he does.  He doesn't have any friends because he hurts them all.  He's retarded."

"I'm not retarded," said Harry, narrowing his eyes.

"Harry says he's not retarded," said Nikki.

"He doesn't know he's retarded," said Dudley.

"I think you're full of horse dung," said Nikki.  "If anyone is retarded, it's you."

That seemed to be the last Dudley would hear of Nikki today.  He growled Gordon's name, before turning to pin Harry down with his eyes.

"Run!" screeched Nikki and Amanda, causing Gordon to give chase.

"You should probably get going, too, Potter," sneered Malcolm.

Harry didn't need to be told twice.  He took off, looking for a good place to hide, and he jumped into one of Aunt Petunia's flower bushes to watch Dudley's gang come into the backyard.  They were looking around, wildly, for him.  A loud, unpleasant cracking sound came from Dudley's knuckles as he pounding his fist into his hands, muttering around breaking Harry's face into a million pieces.  Piers snickered, expressing his desire for Dudley to break Harry's collarbone.  Gordon rejoined them several moments later.

Biting down on his tongue to keep from making any noise when he scratched his arm against a branch, Harry watched them search the shed first.  There was, of course, no sign of Harry anywhere.  Holding his breath, Harry hoped they weren't smart enough to look in these overgrown bushes.  For the first time ever, Harry wanted to hug his Aunt Petunia when she stuck her head out the back door.

"Duddy, your lunch is ready.  I sent the boy to tell you."

"He ran away," explained Dudley.  "I want to beat him up.  He was being mean to me!  He always ruins all my fun!"

"He always does," agreed Dennis.

"All right, then, but when you're done with that, come in to eat," said Aunt Petunia, disappearing inside.  Harry's jaw dropped.

"_What?" he screeched before he could stop himself._

"Get him!" cried Dudley.

Less than five seconds later, Gordon and Malcolm had seized Harry and yanked him out of the bushes.  Piers grabbed his arms from behind, and the three held Harry back (though Piers could have done the job alone), while Dudley took to mutilating Harry's face with his hands.  Harry tried to look anywhere but Dudley, and he grimaced when he felt Dudley's meaty fist sinking into his stomach.

"Get off my lawn!" cried one of the neighbors a few yards down.

"Rotten kids!" screamed another.

Amanda and Nikki were making their way back to Privet Drive by cutting through the backyards, and they were being screamed at by neighbors the whole way up.  From the corner of his eye, Harry could see the patio door to the Bree house slide open, probably to see what all the commotion was about.  Staci and Jennifer came outside; both were dressed in pleated skirts and blouses, magenta and aqua respectively.

"You know," Harry could hear Amanda say as Dudley tried to flex in front of Staci's eye as he hit Harry on the shoulder, "Harry's retarded."

"Who's retarded?" said Staci.

"Harry," repeated Amanda.

"Who's Harry?"

"That's Harry," said Amanda.

"Why don't you leave him alone?" called Nikki, giving Dudley one of the rudest finger gestures Harry had learned on the playground.  "Pick on someone your own size."

"His name's Jason," said Jennifer.

"But it used to be Clarence," said Staci.  Then, she started giggling, tossing her hair.  "Oh!  That's why he thinks his name is Harry.  He's retarded!"

"And he's not the only one," muttered Amanda.  Nikki snickered.

"How did you find out he was retarded?" asked Staci, as Harry tried to wriggle out of Pier's grip, but Malcolm only held on tighter.  By now, Dudley was trying even harder to look tough, probably because Staci was discussing him as she looked over, her upper lip curled and nose scrunched.

"Dudley told us," said Nikki.

"The fat boy?" asked Jennifer.

"Yep."

"Oh my god!  Jason's retarded?" said Staci, looking horror-stricken, as if it had finally sunk in.  Dashing over to where Dudley's gang was surrounding Harry, she went to hit Dudley on his beefy shoulder, but grimacing, picked up a stick instead.  She poked him in the shoulder, hard, and then whacked him on the head.  "Why are you beating up that poor retarded boy?  No wonder he's retarded!  Don't beat up retarded people!  They can't fight back."

"Yeah, only a loser would beat up a retarded boy," said Jennifer.

"Yeah," agreed Staci.

"Yeah," muttered Harry.

It didn't seem to matter, though.  The fact that Staci was talking to him was enough for Dudley to not only forget he was beating up Harry, but the fact that Harry was there all together.  Slipping out of the grip of Dudley's gang, Harry slunk away to the house, holding his broken glasses to his face.  Deciding to skip lunch, Harry grabbed a roll of Sello tape and made his way into his cupboard.  Leaning against the wall, he wrapped the tape around the frames, trying to put them back together all the while ignoring the pain in his arms, stomach, shoulders, and nose from where Dudley had been hitting him.

The last thought that crossed his mind before forcing himself to work on his homework was, _Great, now Staci and Jennifer think I'm retarded_.  Obviously, as they weren't stupid, Amanda and Nikki were wise enough to realize that, if Dudley said Harry was retarded, there were good chances that he wasn't.  Staci, however, not only thought his name was Jason, formerly known as Clarence Potter, but now he was retarded, too.  A large black streak appeared across his notebook paper as Harry ran his pencil roughly across the page, his pencil tip breaking at the end.

*****

By the end of the school day on Monday, everyone had heard from either Dudley or Staci that Harry was retarded.  Most of them had a hard time figuring out the story from Staci, because it took some time for them to realize who Jason was.  However, despite Harry's many protests, he was now known as the retarded boy.

As if things couldn't get any worse, now Dudley had sealed his fate forever as the school freak.  Harry Potter, or Jason depending on who you were talking to, the class retard.  What could possibly make Dudley think this would be a good idea to do to Harry?  Did he think that Staci would pay more attention to him, or did he hate Harry so much that he wanted to ensure he would never have a single person to call a friend?  When Harry was much younger, he had wanted to get along with his cousin.  It was times like these that reminded him it was never going to happen.  Even worse, Harry still had the rest of this year, and then several in secondary school with these people.

The only thing worse than people staring at Harry because of either his clothes or his glasses was people now staring at him because they were told he was retarded.  Even Miss Hudson had been unfortunate enough for such a rumor to reach her ears, and she was trying to dissuade the class without coming right out and saying it.  At least it saved Harry some embarrassment, not that he wasn't suffocating in it already.

"Just so you know," Nikki had said while Harry was circling the school yard alone, "we don't think you're retarded."

"I can't believe anyone would take something Dudley said seriously," added Amanda.

"You get okay marks, too.  Besides, you'd be in a special class if you were retarded."

"If anyone is retarded, it's Staci."

"But she's highly entertaining, isn't she?" said Nikki.  Amanda, glancing over at Staci who was seated across from Sara on a bench with a small bottle of nail polish in her hand, nodded.

"Very entertaining."

"Don't let them get to you," said Nikki.  "They're a bunch of morons if they actually believe Dudley.  Anyone could clearly see that you are not even close to being retarded."

"If anyone really starts to get under your skin, though, like Kevin or someone, you just let us know, okay?  We'll be on him or her so fast they won't even get time to feel sorry for messing with you."

"Okay," said Harry, a little suspicious as to why they would want to defend him when he had never had a friend before.  Assuming it largely had to do with Nikki's intense abhorrence of one Dudley Dursley, Harry let it slide.  Why should he complain, anyway?  It wasn't like he could afford to shun The Run Girls away.  They were the only friends he had, if you could call their twisted communications a friendship, anyway.

"Sorry you have to live with Dudley," said Amanda.  "I bet he really smells.  Is his whole family like that?  Large and blond?"

"Um . . . Aunt Petunia is kind of skinny."

"Petunia is a sucky name," said Nikki.

"But Dudley is even worse.  Who in their right mind with any kind of sympathy would name a child Dudley Dursley?"

"Is you uncle fat, too?"

"Er - sort of," said Harry.  "Yeah."

"It's no wonder you don't get meals for punishment.  It's like being slowly tortured and murdered to the rest of that fat-arsed Dursley family," said Nikki.

"They would probably die of self injuries if they weren't allowed to eat.  That fat pig was eyeing my lasagna all through lunch today.  I wanted to bop him on the head with my juice box."

"You should have," said Nikki, laughing.  "Could you imagine his face if it would have exploded?  Of course, then he'd be all sticky and he's gross enough to begin with."

"We'll try to tell everyone you aren't retarded, okay?" said Amanda, earnestly.  Harry couldn't help but smile as he nodded.  It felt so incredibly good to have someone to talk to that he didn't even have time to care if it was mostly fueled by a hatred of Dudley.  "People will listen to us.  At least they should.  If they don't, they'll be pretending they think you're retarded because they don't want Dudley to command his Troops of the Big Bums after them."

"Gordon runs faster than you'd think," added Nikki.

"Right.  But everyone knows that Nikki and I have more sense than Dudley and Staci Bree combined.  I don't know how they got to be the leaders of their little cliques.  I suppose it's because Staci is the most self-centered, and Dudley is the largest with the smallest amount of brains."

"You want to play a game or something with us?" said Nikki.  "I've got cards and stuff with me.  We could play a card game."

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing.  No one had ever played with him during recess before.  In his head, his eyes going wide behind his glasses and entire face perking up looked more so comical than stupid, and he wasn't too terribly surprised when Nikki giggled at him.

"I'll take that as a yes," said Nikki.

"I thought we were going to work on the plans," said Amanda, tapping Nikki on the knee with their rolled up papers, tied together with bright orange yarn.

"We'll work on them over the phone tonight.  Let's play cards with Harry today."

"Okay," agreed Amanda, stuffing the papers into the small hand bag that Nikki had brought out with her.  "Do you want to play with us?"

"Yeah!" cried Harry, sounding more excited than he wanted to, but less than he had really been feeling.  Amanda snickered, pulling a pack of cards out, and she motioned for him to make himself comfortable on the grass.

He imagined his smile must have been blinding, as he sat there on the grass with Nikki and Amanda, playing during recess for the first time in his life.  Even better, Dudley had never seemed to notice.  Just to be able to say he had someone to at least say hello to was now enough to last him a whole month in his cupboard, even if the doors were locked.  Nikki poked him in the arm, bringing his attention back to the game, and Amanda laughed as Harry straightened his glasses and went to draw from the deck.

**If you have any suggestions, pass them on my way.  If you want to be notified when it's updated, email me at angeldlsm01@hotmail.com.  Put Little Whinging Primary in the subject box, and let me know you want to be added to the list.**


	6. Bertha Jorkins

**Penname:  **Kiara

**Title:**  Little Whinging Primary

**Email**:  angeldlsm00@hotmail.com, lavenderrain00@hotmail.com

**AOL Instant Messanger**:  FoxyD227, LavnderRain00

**Forgive my mistakes, for I am American.**

**PhoenixTear**:  A good note, yes.  Hadn't realized, but I supposed 'tis a good thing.

**Rowenna**:  Glad you like the story.  As for the LLB sequel, I haven't even started writing it yet, though I have started planning it.  The thing is, I'm writing four stories now, and I want to finish at least one before I start writing it.  So – if I actually get my arse on writing, I have about five chapters left to write of one story.  I'll let you know when I start writing.  Also, I do now have a beta, so if you would like to talk to me about that, email me.

**Daisy8781**:  The thing about the good moments was that if Harry never had them, I don't know how he would have ever been so well adjusted when he went to Hogwarts.  With a childhood like Harry's, he should be defensive, and not so outgoing around people, but he wasn't.  He realized that he didn't deserve being shoved in a cupboard, and was very ready to make friends with Ron on the Hogwarts Express.  I figured that had to come from somewhere.

**Alvild**:  Meet up with the kids?  You know, I'm going to do it.  When this is finished, after the epilogue, I'm going to write a short story sequel.  I'm not sure what is going to happen yet, but it will come about.

**Rita Skeeter**:  Your suggestions are so helpful.  I like the idea of Dumbledore watching him.  Will keep it in mind. 

**Disclaimer:  You can tell I'm not JK Rowling because I make too many mistakes and have a million plot holes.__**

_Chapter Five:  Bertha Jorkins_

One of the best things about October was that Miss Hudson had announced that she switched the seating arrangement every month.  No longer was Harry seated in front of Malcolm, something that was almost worth having to be the Little Whinging Primary fifth year retard.  Where before there had been five rows of five, stretching from the front of the classroom to the back, there were now four rows of six going side to side.  Before, the desks had been separated, but now they were pushed together, and Harry was seated on the left end of the last row.  It had been a big improvement, being in the back row, especially since Harry didn't have to be bothered with paper clips or hair torture.  In fact, it was almost a pleasant seating arrangement.  Robbie Hamilton, a boy who never paid Harry much attention, sat in front of him, and he was fortunate enough to have Amanda Graves on his right.  She didn't talk to him much since Nikki sat in front of her, and they spent most of the period passing notes, but even Harry hadn't expected things to be that good.  The real enjoyment, however, came from the fact that Dudley was on Nikki's right, and she spent most of the school day arguing with him and being threatened with serious bodily damage.

It was mid-month, and it was early in the morning as Harry sat bent over his reading assignment.  Miss Hudson was currently meeting with the level one reading group, which contained Dudley, and he could hear their voices taking turns on reading their story while he completed his assignment.  Next to him, Amanda was tapping her pencil on the desk with her right hand, her head resting on her open palm of her left hand, her fingers buried in her hair.

"Harry," she hissed, "do you understand the third passage?"

"I'm not there yet," he replied.

"Would you look for me?  I don't get it.  I'll help you with the first two."

Every now and then it was nice to be treated like a human being, and Harry was more than willing to flip ahead in their packet.  He imagined that if Nikki was in their reading group, Amanda wouldn't have bothered to ask Harry, but he wasn't going to let something like that get in the way of his good mood.

"This is kind of confusing," said Harry, looking it over.

"You too?" she asked, frowning.

"Let me read it over again."

Harry skimmed back over the passage about something to do with spinning glass, and glanced again at the questions which followed.  For the next ten minutes, he and Amanda went over the passage sentence by sentence, trying to get through it, and once they had answered all seventeen questions, they backtracked for Amanda to help Harry with what he had been working on earlier.

"So, you see," Amanda said, plainly, "the answer is C, because the writer's usage of tone is the most important factor."

"How did you get that?"

"Nikki helped me out a bit.  She's a lot better at reading than I am, but I beat her in math any day."

Harry couldn't help but return the grin that Amanda was offering him.  From the back of the classroom, there was a shuffling at the reading table, and Harry could hear the students from group one standing up.  Miss Hudson had finished with them, and that meant she would be calling level two back soon.  Amanda wasn't paying attention, pointing out a sentence in the second story of their packet to Harry, explaining what Nikki had told her about the tone.

"Group two," said Miss Hudson, cutting off Amanda's voice and causing the scattered chatter to diminish, "come back to the reading table, please."

Amanda arched her eyebrows at Harry, put her packet away in her reading folder, and slipped a pencil into one of the flaps before standing up from her seat.  As Amanda pushed in her chair, Nikki caught her eye and scrunched up her nose, motioning to where Dudley sat next to her.  Giving them both a mischievous look, Nikki grabbed her ruler out of her pencil box and started to poke Dudley with it.  Amanda was laughing, and Harry tried not to let Dudley see his amusement as he gathered his reading folder together.  The two were in a hushed argument about who was more superior when Harry and Amanda headed for the reading table.

Sitting down next to Miss Hudson, Harry was happy when Amanda sat down on his other side.  Sometimes, Amanda was sitting on the other side of the table, or with Robbie Hamilton, and Harry usually ended up having to grit his teeth and try not to be embarrassed while the rest of the class avoided sitting next to him.  The rest of the group, however, didn't even look at Harry twice (if they even looked once) as they took their seats, though Miss Hudson had her eyes trailing back and forth between Harry and his classmates like it was oxygen.

"Let's start with a reminder," said Miss Hudson, opening the green level two folder, and paging through the papers.  "Your packets are due this Friday.  If you run into any difficulty, please come see me, or talk to one of your group members.  This is only for guidance, however.  I don't want you sharing answers or doing someone else's work.  I want it handed in, completed in full, when we meet on Friday.  Does anyone have any questions?"

There was silence, Miss Hudson looking around at her class, and them staring back at her in return.  Most of the stares were from blank faces, completely wiped of any attention, and Miss Hudson tried not to heave a sigh.

"Has anyone had any problems?  Don't be afraid to ask for help."  Tentatively, Robbie Hamilton raised his hand.  "Yes, Robbie?"

"Story three's focus is confusing," he said.

"I was worried about that.  Anyone else having a problem with the focus?"  Amanda, now, raised her hand, along with several other students in the group.  They were all watching each other, as if to see if they were the only one, and whether or not they could chance having their friends know they didn't understand.  "Amanda?"

"Harry and I were confused, too, but we worked through it."

"Good!" said Miss Hudson, smiling broadly first at Amanda, then at Harry.  "That's very excellent.  Robbie, when we finish here, you can either discuss it with Amanda and Harry, or you can see me about it.  The same goes for the rest of you.  If you're confused, don't just make things up and hope for the best.  Okay?"

"Yes," said Robbie, nodding, and looking at Amanda to smirk.

"Right then.  Moving on, we're going to be starting a reading project for the next few weeks.  I'll be giving you some time in class to complete it, but you may have to get together after school or on weekends as well.  I want you to get in groups of two, three, or four, and pick a book.  I don't care what book it is so long as you bring it to me, and I will approve it.  You'll be reading it together, and making a mobile for presentation to the class on November first."

Standing up, Miss Hudson moved over to her desk, grabbed a stack of paper, and set it down in the middle of the reading table.

"This is your packet.  It contains information on what needs to be on your mobile, how your mobile should be constructed, and what you're going to be graded on.  I want you to each take one, and then get into your groups.  Come let me know who you'll be working with, then you can start discussing books.  If you can't find a partner, please come see me."

Harry felt his stomach lurch, his throat fighting back a groan.  He had a feeling that last line was said for him.  That was always him.  His classmates would always go and pair up with each other, then when Harry would ask to join them, they would make excuses.  Harry had even had people partner up with kids they often fought with just so that they didn't have to be with Harry.  Glancing nervously around the table, Harry's eyes landed on Amanda.  She was nice to him most of the time.  Maybe she would work with him.  If it weren't for the fact she was mouthing something across the table to Robbie, Harry would have almost felt less sick and annoyed by this assignment.

At the end of the table, Harry could hear Jennifer Bree loudly partnering with Mindy and Kristy.  David was working with Dennis and Gordon.  Amanda, who was probably his last hope, wasn't even paying attention to him.

"Er - Amanda?" Harry said, hoping he was loud enough to grab her attention, and yet soft enough not to grab anyone else's.

"Hm?" she said, swinging her head around and catching a piece of her dark blonde hair in her mouth.  Her eyes deepened, crossed, and glanced down as she tried to see her lips, her fingers yanking the piece out.  "I hate it when it does that," she muttered to herself.  Looking up, she caught sight of Harry staring at her, and her face broke out into a huge grin.  "What?"

"Can I work with you on the project?"

His eyes were wide, pleading, and Harry felt very stupid sitting there with her while Robbie was watching them both.  In fact, Miss Hudson was probably watching, too, but he didn't really care right now.  Amanda's lips slightly parted, and she glanced over at Robbie, her words caught in her throat.

"Oh.  Well - er - I'm working with Robbie, but you're welcome to work with us if you like.  Robbie would be nice.  And you know he's friends with my cousin and all, so if he wasn't, I'd just get my mum to tell his mum, and Robbie has a scary mum when she's angry."

"I don't want to be a bother -"

"Oh, don't worry about it," said Amanda.  Standing up, she motioned for Harry to follow her, and they rounded to table to join Robbie on the other side.  "Harry's going to work with us, too, Robbie.  Okay?"

Robbie was a good five inches taller than Harry, and he angled his head slightly down to take Harry in.  His eyes were darker than usual, and he glanced from Harry's stance to Amanda's steely gaze that was fixing him.  Swallowing visibly, he nodded and forced a smile.

"Sure.  We can work together.  I'll tell Miss Hudson.  Er - Harry, your last name's Potter, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, and Robbie nodded, turning away and walking over to Miss Hudson's desk, where she was talking to Jennifer, Kristy, and Mindy.

"There," said Amanda.  "That was simple.  Now, we have to pick a book.  I was thinking _Island of the Blue Dolphins, or something C.S. Lewis.  I'm a big C.S. Lewis fan."_

"Who's C.S. Lewis?" asked Harry.

"He wrote the Narnia Chronicles.  _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is the one mostly everyone knows."_

"Never heard of it," said Harry, feeling himself turn pink.  He hated this, being in the dark because the Dursleys had never let him join the library, even though they wouldn't let him watch television either.  It was a boring life at the Dursley house.

Amanda, however, couldn't believe that Harry had never heard of Narnia, and once she got over the shock, she started flailing her hands about, telling Harry all about how wonderful the books were.  She kept going on about some bloke named Caspian, whom she was deeply in love with, and would marry if fictional characters were real.  When Robbie returned, he smirked at her, sat on the desk next to Harry, and turned to him.

"Going on about what a genius C.S. Lewis is again?" asked Robbie.  Harry nodded.  "Her cousin, Matt, says she's obsessive about things.  I agree.  I've never read any of the books, though.  I suppose I don't have room to talk."

"You don't," said Amanda, harshly.  "That's it.  I've decided.  We're reading _The Magician's Nephew.  I'm going to tell Miss Hudson, and she never has to know I already read it.  Besides, two out of the three of us haven't, and everyone needs to know about Narnia."_

Walking away, Amanda continued to mumble to herself about Narnia, and what a crime it was that neither Harry nor Robbie had picked up one of the books before.  There was an awkward silence that hung in the air between Robbie and Harry while she was gone, and it was only when she returned to tell them that their book had been approved that it was dispelled.

"Robbie's going to be away for the week before Halloween," said Amanda, "so I think that we should get the project done before he goes to Ireland."

"You're going to Ireland?" said Harry.

"Holiday with my family to see my grandparents," explained Robbie.

"My point is, Harry and I aren't doing the whole thing just because you're going away.  I will do my share of the work, and only my share of the work."  Opening up her folder, Amanda pulled out a little calendar book with a picture of water lilies on the front, opened it, and started marking the pages with her pencil.  Chewing on the eraser, she said, "Since Robbie leaves on the twenty-second, and it's already the fifteenth, it means we have to start working.  Are you doing anything this weekend?"

Staring at her with big eyes, Harry tried to mentally will his jaw shut, and it took focusing all of his concentration on the task to be able to do so.  Robbie recovered first, though he was also intimidated by the take-charge attitude Amanda suddenly adopted when Nikki wasn't around, and he cleared his throat.

"I'm going to Matt's birthday party on Saturday night, but other than that, I'm free."

"Matt's party starts at six, right?" said Amanda, checking her calendar.

"Yeah."

"Harry, are you free on Saturday?  I have church and Sunday School on Sunday."

"Yes," he replied.  Harry was free every Saturday, unless the Dursleys had something for him to do.  So long as Amanda didn't want to meet at the Dursleys, though, Harry didn't think there would be a problem working on the assignment.  After all, they liked Harry to go away every opportunity that was presented.  It was the main reason why he had an almost perfect school attendance record.

"Can you both come over to my house on Saturday?  Have the book read before then.  Take it out of the school library.  If you can't find it, I'll lend you my copy.  I've already read it, anyway."

"Magician's Nephew, right?" said Robbie, grabbing a pen and writing it down on his arm.

"Yep.  C.S. Lewis."

Harry, also, copied this down, though decided to put it on a piece of paper instead.  The last time he had put ink on his skin, Aunt Petunia had thought he joined some sort of a cult, and he spent forty minutes in the bathroom with her rubbing at his skin until it was raw, red, and stinging with pain.

"Amanda, where do you live?" asked Harry.

"Here," she said, grabbing the paper from him, and soon she started to draw lines all over it.  "You live on Privet Drive, right?"  Harry nodded.  "The directions are in landmarks.  I don't know street names, but I know how to get to Nikki's from my house, so I just put reverse instructions on it with my address.  If you get lost, ask someone where to find Birch Avenue.  They'll direct you."

When they were sent back to their seats and level three was called back, Harry and Amanda went back to work on their packet, Robbie turned around in his seat before Harry to add his own input.  Level three students returned from learning about their projects not much later, and Nikki went back to insulting Dudley, and receiving threats to her respiratory system.  Miss Hudson straightened up the reading table, put her things from reading away, and returned to the front of the classroom.

"Now that you've all received your reading assignments, before we go on to this week's spelling list, I'd like to take this time to let you know about this year's Halloween party.  A sign up sheet will be hanging on the bulletin board all week, and anyone wishing to bring a snack for the party should sign up on the chart.  On Halloween, we'll be taking the time after lunch to celebrate the holiday.  If you want, you may bring a costume to change into, and we'll be playing games for prizes, bonus points, and free homework passes."

Nikki turned around in her seat to glance at Amanda, pull the end of their plans out of the desk just enough for Amanda to see, and wriggled her eyebrows.  Covering her mouth with her hand, Amanda stifled a laugh and nodded.

A Halloween party.  Dudley, of course, would bring his trick-or-treating costume to school, because though Uncle Vernon disliked the holiday, claiming it was for freaks, Aunt Petunia insisted that Dudley be like the other children.  When put this way, Uncle Vernon yielded.  His son would not be known as the freak who didn't go trick-or-treating on Halloween.

Harry, however, was never allowed to dress up.  Uncle Vernon would never allow him to go out with the family unless it was necessary, and whenever he was out with Dudley, his cousin often did things to degrade Harry, like telling the entire fifth year class that Harry was retarded.  Usually, Harry had to sit by the door inside the house and hand out sweets.  Just last year, Uncle Vernon had gone out to buy a security camera, just in case Harry decided to nick some of the sweets for himself.  Somehow, he didn't think that this year was going to be any different.

*****

"Where's this girl's house?" Aunt Petunia asked, and Harry looked up from his breakfast to see Aunt Petunia putting more bacon on Dudley's plate.

"Three-forty-three Birch Avenue," Harry replied, shoveling eggs into his mouth before Dudley went through the last of his own.

"You can walk, can't you?"

Nodding, Harry said, "Yes.  She gave me directions."

"And this is for school?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia.  It's a reading project."

"Fine," was her curt reply as she moved back to the stove.  Uncle Vernon lowered his paper, peered at Harry over the top of it, and his beady eyes turned to slits.

"When was the last time you had a haircut, boy?" barked Uncle Vernon.

"I just took him two weeks ago," said Aunt Petunia.

"He needs to go again!  Schedule an appointment for next weekend.  We can't have him walking around here like that.  Don't go to that girl's house before properly combing your hair.  You hear me, boy?"

Harry sighed.  "Yes, Uncle Vernon."  His eyes turned to slits of jade as he glared at Dudley, who was sniggering unpleasantly next to him.

"When are you leaving?" asked Aunt Petunia, writing down a note on a memo pad to call the barbers again.  Harry was so sick of going to the barbers that he wouldn't be completely against cutting his hair on his own.  It wasn't his fault.  His hair just liked growing that way.  He couldn't do anything about it, and they should know.  Uncle Vernon had tried everything to tidy up Harry's appearance, though didn't seem to care about the way Dudley's old clothes fit him at all.  So went the life with the Dursleys.  To think he still had years ahead of him here.

"Amanda said to go over around noon."

"And when are you coming back?"

"Amanda said six o'clock."

"I hope they plan on feeding you," said Aunt Petunia.  "Certainly, they don't expect me to cook for you when you've been with them all day long."

"I'm sure they don't expect that," agreed Harry, trying to keep things as smooth as possible before it was time to leave.

Once breakfast was over, Harry had dusted and vacuumed the living room and was packing things into the tattered remains of his backpack when the doorbell rang.  There was no pounding overhead, like there usually was when Dudley was answering the door, and Aunt Petunia was still out in the yard, admiring her flower garden.  Since Uncle Vernon had gone into the office this morning to catch up on some things he fell behind in during the week, that only left Harry.  Abandoning his school books, Harry left his cupboard to answer the door.

"Potter," sneered Calvin Bruce, standing there with Dennis, and David.  "I didn't know you lived with Dudley."

"Harry's lived with Dudley since he was a baby," Dennis informed his.  "His father is in prison."

"My father is not in prison," said Harry, holding the door open for the three to enter.  "Why are you here?"

"To work on the reading project," said David.  "What did your father do to go to prison?"

"My father isn't in prison," repeated Harry.  "My father is dead."

"I heard you were retarded," said Calvin, as if Harry had never said the last line.  "Is that true?"

"No, I'm not retarded," said Harry, heading for the stairs.

"I heard you were told you weren't retarded so that it didn't upset you.  Dudley said you can't understand it," said David.

"Yeah, that's it," muttered Harry, climbing the stair case, and heading for Dudley's room.

Knocking on his cousin's door, Harry told Dudley that Dennis, Calvin, and David were downstairs, and Dudley followed Harry back to the main floor.  

"Tell Aunt Petunia I'm leaving," said Harry, grabbing his bag from his cupboard and slamming the door.  He could hear Dudley confirming Harry's 'mental disability' while he walked outside, and Harry was pleased to be out of there.

Finding Birch Avenue wasn't difficult.  It was a twenty minute walk from Privet Drive, and it had been easy to follow Amanda's instructions, which came with drawings of stick figures and descriptions of all the locations where he needed to turn.  Walking down the street, Harry found the house marked 343.  It was a small two-story home with a driveway to the left that had two bicycles sitting there, supported by their kickstands.  A wooden mailbox was hanging next to the door, the name GRAVES painted on it in black.

Two eyes were peeking over the curtain rod of one of the front windows, reminding him of Aunt Petunia, as he walked up the walkway.  Ringing the doorbell, Harry could hear it chime inside, and the eyes from the window disappeared.  Less than thirty seconds later, the door opened a short, kindly woman ushered him inside.

"You must be Amanda's friend, Harry," she said, excitedly.  "She's told me all about you.  How do you like class with Miss Hudson this year?"

"It's all right," said Harry, biting his lower lip.

"That's wonderful to hear.  Robbie is already here.  He's leaving at three to go shopping before Matthew's birthday party, but you're welcome to stay until six.  They're in the family room.  Here, let me show you."

Even if Harry had time to stop Mrs. Graves from seizing him by the arm and leading him down the narrow hallway, his mind wouldn't have been fast enough to figure out what she was trying to do before it actually happened.  Two rooms down on the right, Mrs. Graves led him in through an archway, and he could see Amanda and Robbie sitting on the floor, surrounded by poster board, hangers, crayons, markers, and their packets.

"Hi, Harry," chirped Amanda.  "Mum!  Leave him alone!"

"I was only talking to him."

"Well, go!"

Mrs. Graves grinned at Amanda, and patted Harry on the small of his back before retreating.

"I don't know what your problem is," said Robbie once she had gone.

"She's annoying!" cried Amanda.  "You don't understand.  She's so embarrassing.  I can't take her anywhere."

"She was nice to me," said Harry, walking over to join them.  Reaching into his bag, he pulled out _The Magician's Nephew and handed it to Amanda.  "Here's your book back."_

The school library had only one copy of the book, which Robbie had gotten to first.  Since the Dursleys would never buy Harry a copy, and he didn't go to the public library, Harry had to borrow Amanda's copy, and he had loved it.  Every single page had held him captive, what with talking animals and a magical world that the people of this one didn't know existed.  He had to keep it hidden under his mattress, and only read it at night in his cupboard with only a flashlight he had taken from the shed to illuminate the words.  The Dursleys would have had Amanda's book in the fireplace in a matter of seconds if they had known what he was reading.  Nevertheless, he was exhilarated with it, and when they began discussion on the book, Harry couldn't believe Robbie's less than lukewarm emotions.

"I mean, it was amazing," said Harry, his entire face lighting up.

"It was okay," said Robbie, shrugging.  "So what?  There was a crazy old guy with a bunch of rings.  The best part was when the animals tried to plant the old guy in the ground."

"I thought it was wonderful, all those different worlds.  I liked when Digory and Polly when to Charon and met Jadis, even is she was evil."

"I like that part, too, but I like when Narnia is created best," said Amanda.

Robbie only shrugged, and they worked diligently on their mobile.  When it was almost completed, it was three o'clock, and Robbie's parents had arrived to pick him up.  He hugged Amanda before leaving, but only stared at Harry hard and said a short good-bye before rushing out of the room.

"Don't mind Robbie," said Amanda, tying the strings together to the hanger.  "I think he heard the retarded rumor, and some people are afraid of retarded folk.  One of those fear of the unknown things.  It's a lot of rot, but it still happens.  I can't imagine why he'd believe it, though.  All anyone with a brain would need to do is take one look at you to know you aren't retarded.  Besides, it was Dudley who said it, and nothing he says is to be trusted anyway."

Finishing her knots, Amanda said, "There," and held up the hanger.  "What do you think of our mobile so far?"

"Nice.  What else do we need to add?"

"Our opinions.  I was saving that part for just the two of us, because I don't think Robbie really read the whole book.  He complained a lot before you came about how long it was, which is ridiculous, because it's really short compared to other books I read."

"I loved it."

"Me, too.  Silly, that Robbie.  I'm telling you.  You're staying until six, right?"

"Yeah."

"Mum said we could go out for dinner after Robbie left and we finished the mobile.  Where do you want to go?"

"Er - I don't care," said Harry, shrugging.

"Well, what do you want to eat?"

"I don't care.  Anything."

"Oh, I get it.  You're one of those.  I'm one of those people, too.  Whatever is convenient is usually what I go with.  Nikki, though, always knows precisely what she wants, and when she wants it.  I've gotten into the habit of asking.  Well, if you don't want anything particular, then we can just go have pizza.  You like pizza, right?"

"Who doesn't?" said Harry, grinning.

"You'd be surprised," said Amanda, also grinning.  "Nikki hates cheese, which means she hates pizza.  In fact, Nikki is a really picky eater, which is probably why you always have to ask her what she wants."

"Nikki hates pizza?" said Harry, in disbelief.  The Dursleys didn't get pizza often, and when they did, Dudley usually ate it all.  The only thing Harry would get would be the pieces that Dudley didn't want, which usually was nothing at all.

"Not really the pizza per se.  Just the cheese.  She picks the cheese off, which means she's eating dough and spaghetti sauce.  Weird, isn't it?"

Amanda shrugged, scrawling her opinion of The Magician's Nephew on the last piece of paper, and handing it over for Harry to read.

_The Magician's Nephew was a book with many different aspects.  It made us laugh, and it also made us wonder what was coming next.  It had a little something for everyone, and we each loved it in a different way.  When discussing our favorite parts, in fact, we all had a different one.  One thing we can agree on, however, is that this is a wonderful read, and we would recommend it to a friend._

"If I had any friends, that is," said Harry, nodding, as he handed it back to Amanda.

"You have friends," said Amanda, rubbing a glue stick on the back before sticking it to a piece of green construction paper.

"No, I really don't."

"What do you call me?"

"You're my friend?" asked Harry.

"Sure, I am.  Nikki's my best friend, but you're my friend, too.  Kind of.  Nikki and I don't let just anyone hang out with us at recess.  Staci Bree used to try to be our friend until third year, but then she yelled at us for using her markers wrong, and we've disliked her intensely ever since."

"There's a right way to use markers?"

"Apparently," said Amanda, shrugging.  "Course, you probably wouldn't want to be friends with me and Nikki.  We do a lot of weird things.  Last year, we sent Stephanie Crowe this letter with bits of a clay figurine that Nikki made.  It was supposed to be a love letter.  Stephanie thought it was from Andrew Klimkowski, and her dad came into school to yell at him.  We thought it was funny.  It's a good thing for us that Nikki's dad is on the police force."

"Nikki gets into a lot of trouble, doesn't she?"

"Nope," said Amanda, shaking her head.  "We do stuff, but we don't ever get caught.  That's the key.  At least Nikki says that's the key."

"Hey," said Mrs. Grave, coming into the room, "you two done yet?"

"Yep," said Amanda, snipping off the last of excess string.

"You want to come shopping with me and Dad?  We have to go get some presents for your sister's birthday, and we need to get Halloween sweets.  I thought you two might want to walk around the mall a bit before we go for dinner."

"Do you want to go?" said Amanda, turning to Harry.

Harry, who didn't go shopping much, nodded.

"And what do you want for dinner?"

"Pizza," Amanda replied.

"Okay.  I'm going to go tell your dad and then we can go.  Get your jackets in the meantime."

Harry followed Amanda into the hallway, where she got her jacket out.

"Didn't you wear one?" she asked.  Harry shook his head.  The only jacket he had was Dudley's old one, which was far too large, and Harry only wore when it was so cold out that he couldn't walk right.  "Hey, Harry," she said, pulling her hair out of her jacket and letting it fall around her face, "do you want to borrow the other Narnia books?  I mean, since you liked the first one so much?"

"Yes, please," said Harry, trying not to sound as excited as the butterflies batting around in his stomach made him.  Amanda grinned, and motioned for him to follow.

They went up the stairs, down the hall, and Amanda opened the door to a pale yellow room with a grey carpet.  It was small, not much larger than his cupboard, truthfully, with a white bureau across from the bed, and there was a small desk in the corner.  Amanda dropped first to her knees, then to her stomach, and disappeared partially under the bed.  Only her legs sticking out indicated that she was down there.  When she returned, she was holding a copy of _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe_.

"This is the second book.  When you finish it, bring it in to school and I'll give you the third one."

"Okay," said Harry, taking the book in his hands.  When they returned downstairs, Harry added it to his bag, and they walked out to the car.

"How old is that bag?" Amanda asked once her father had come out and they were on their way to the mall.

"Amanda, that isn't nice to ask!" said Mrs. Graves.

"Well, it looks like it's going to fall apart!"

"It used to be Dudley's," explained Harry.

"Do you have anything that wasn't once your cousin's?"

"Well, the Dursleys think it's a waste of money to just get rid of Dudley's old things, so they give them to me.  That way, nothing goes to waste."

"And they save by not giving you anything new," said Amanda.

"Amanda," said Mrs. Graves.

"It's true!  You should see how spoiled his cousin is.  It would make you sick."

"He is kind of spoiled," admitted Harry.

Arriving at the mall, Mr. Graves instructed them to meet him in the food court in a half hour, then they went off, leaving Amanda and Harry to their own devices.  With there being nowhere that Harry really wanted to go, Amanda first dragged him to the bookstore, where she looked at all sorts of books, and pointed out titles that she thought Harry would enjoy.  At the music store, they had run into Kevin Edwards, who was there with his parents, and, fortunately, wouldn't cause a scene with Harry in public.  He did, however, mention that Dudley would be so excited to hear where Harry had been.  This only led him to believe that Dudley would soon be telling Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia about how Harry had been at the mall when he was supposed to be doing school work.

"Kevin is such a moron," said Amanda, as they left the music store.  "He gets on my nerves.  Doesn't he get on your nerves?"

"Sometimes," admitted Harry, sitting down on a bench next to where Amanda had already plopped herself.

"Ugh," said a voice nearby, and Harry saw a trio of girls coming their way.  They all wore black, heavy make up, and they stood in front of where Harry and Amanda were.  "What's with your friend?" the girl asked Amanda.

"What's with you?" asked Amanda.  "I don't even know you.  Harry do you know these girls?"

"No," said Harry, trying to avoid their eyes and feeling his cheeks heat up.  He would have been embarrassed about being embarrassed except for the fact that Amanda's face was already bright red.

"I just wanted to know why a kid that dresses like that and obviously doesn't bathe regularly was allowed into a mall where people actually shop?"

"Leave him alone," snapped Amanda.  "We were minding our own business.  No one was bothering you.  Why don't you just go away?"

"Is there a problem here, ladies?" asked a security guard, and the girl dressed in black grinned.

"No problem.  Not a problem at all," she said, sending a scathing glare at Amanda as she and her friends walked away.

"I hate people like that," muttered Amanda.

"She reminded me of Dudley."

"If Dudley went Gothic," she replied, snickering.  "Nikki would've kicked her arse."

"Nikki is a very outgoing person.  I know she's your friend, and I guess she's kind of mine, too, but Nikki is sort of a snob."

"You think so, too?" asked Amanda, laughing.

"You think Nikki is a snob?" asked Harry, astounded.  Amanda nodded.

"She's really nasty, too.  I'm glad she likes me, otherwise she'd be a lot meaner than she already is."

"She's mean to you?  I thought you were her best friend."

"Sometimes.  I mean, you're kind of lucky, Harry.  You don't have friends or anything, and you have Dudley beating you up all the time, but at least you don't have friends like me or Staci Bree do.  They're mean even to your face, and if they're like that when you're there, who knows what they say when you're not.  With friends like that, you don't really need goons like Dudley's gang chasing you around.  I'd never almost get pummeled if it weren't for Nikki's mouth."

"I thought you liked her."

"I do!" said Amanda, jumping up from her seat.  "It's just, sometimes I hate her.  She's mean.  Anyway, at least people are honest with you."

"I guess," muttered Harry, hanging his head.  "Would be nice to have friends, though."

"You'll have friends one day.  Dudley won't scare everyone forever, you know."

"I know."

"We've got to go meet my parents," said Amanda, checking her watch.  "Come on."

Smiling, Harry joined Amanda as they headed back in the direction they had come from.  They found the escalator, and made their way back to the food court, where Amanda's parents were already waiting.  They had ordered a pizza there ahead of time, and sat down to eat.

As they talked and laughed, Harry noticed a strange woman walking around the food court.  In fact, everyone noticed the woman, and there was chatter about her at almost every table.  She wore a bright, shocking blue from head to toe, her outfit something of a robe, and she kept muttering words like, "fascinating," as she walked around.  In her hand was a quill, something Harry had only seen in movies before, and she was writing on a heavy sort of yellow paper.

Things couldn't have gotten stranger, the lady poking at things and then taking notes on her paper, but then she spotted Harry.  Her mouth was frozen wide open, staring at Harry as he brushed his hair out of his eyes, thinking that maybe he did need that hair cut after all.  Dropping the quill and paper, she gave a small shriek, and hurried over to their table, seizing Harry's hand and shaking it.

"My name is Bertha Jorkins," she told him.  "Just doing a routine article . . . never in all my life . . . Mister Potter!" she exclaimed.  From the corner of his eye, he could see the Graves watching her, and Amanda arching an eyebrow as she looked at Harry.

"Er - hello," he said.

"Such an honor," she was mumbling, as she kept one eye on Harry to retrieve her quill and paper.  "Could I get a quote?  Anything at all?"

"Er -"

"Excuse me, miss, but who are you?" said Mr. Graves.

"Bertha Jorkins," she repeated.  "Wait until I tell everyone . . . Harry Potter!"

"Harry, do you know this woman?" asked Mrs. Graves.  Harry, slowly, shook his head.

"I've never seen her before in my life."

"Right then," said Mr. Graves, sounding angry.  "You, be gone from here before I get security."

Bertha's lips tightened into a pout, her eyes went hard, and she stared at Mr. Graves.  Brandishing her quill at him, she said, "You don't understand.  Harry Potter . . . never in all my life . . ."

"I am not going to ask you again," said Mr. Graves.  "Leave the boy alone."

Huffing, Bertha rolled up her paper, stuck her quill inside, and angled her head up to put her nose in the air as she walked away.  No longer was she interested in the things that had amazed her before, and Harry had a feeling that Mr. Graves had one more enemy.  Then again, he had one more fan as well.

"Thank you," said Harry, his voice small.  "Honestly, I don't know who she was.  I've never seen her before in my entire life."

"Not a problem, Harry," said Mr. Graves.  "You kids want ice cream?"

"Sure," said Amanda.  "Harry?"

"Yes, please.  If it's no trouble."

"No trouble at all," said Mrs. Graves.  "Randal, get me a Chocolate.  Plain."

"Mint Chocolate Chip," said Amanda.

"Vanilla," said Harry.

"So, Harry," said Mrs. Graves, glancing around nervously while her husband went for ice cream, "what are you going to be for Halloween?"

"I'm not dressing up this year," said Harry, leaving out the part that he didn't dress up any year.

"Really?  Amanda is, but she won't tell me what she's dressing up as.  Making her own costume and everything.  Very secretive."

"I even have a different one for the class party.  Nikki and I aren't unveiling our costumes until trick-or-treating."

Not long after, Mr. Graves returned with their ice creams, and Harry was soon back in their car, on the way home to the Dursleys.

**If you want to be notified of updates, email me at angeldlsm01@hotmail.com and let me know that you want to be notified for Little Whinging Primary.**

**Next chapter:  Halloween.**


	7. Halloween

**_I know I have glaring errors and should get a brit checker.  Truth is, I don't have time for a brit checker or to be sending chapters back and forth.  It's just fanfiction, so if my terminology is incorrect or something annoys you, I apologize._**

**_DISCLAIMER:  Not JK.  Don't own any of the Harry Potter franchise.  If I did, I wouldn't have to go to work.  If I didn't have to go to work, I wouldn't get to read The _****_Canterbury_****_ Tales in the passenger seat of my car.  I also wouldn't have to drive through Annville.  How I wish I owned part of the Harry Potter franchise?_**

****

**_Chapter Six:  Halloween_**

Sitting at the breakfast table, Harry watched as Dudley shoved large portions of bacon and sausages into his wide mouth, making grunting sounds as he chewed.  If Harry hadn't lost his appetite from the stomach virus he was recovering from, than watching Dudley eat certainly would have done it.  He could feel the corners of his mouth stretching out, watching in horror as a bit of grease slipped out of the corner of Dudley's piggy mouth, and ran a thin trail down his wobbling chin.  Closing his eyes, Harry mentally willed his stomach to settle down as he turned his head away from Dudley, trying to breathe through his mouth so as not to have to smell the breakfast.

It was Halloween, and for the last few days, Harry had contracted a stomach virus that Dudley had brought home from school.  Despite the fact he was sick, though, the Dursleys had sent him to school, anyway, and yesterday he spent much of the day laying in the nurse's office when Aunt Petunia was too busy to come pick him up.  The last thing he wanted to do was to spend the class party in the bathroom, throwing up, or resting his head on his desk to keep himself from passing out.  Amanda had gotten so worried about Harry that she brought in a children's flu medication two days ago, and slipped it to him on the school yard.  Having even over the counter drugs in school got you in trouble, after all.

Promising himself some of the aforementioned syrup when he got out of the house, Harry carefully got to his feet, not wanting to upset his head and, in turn, his stomach.  Casually mentioning something about how Dudley's bag looked like it was getting old, Harry pushed in his chair.

"When are you going for that haircut?" barked Uncle Vernon, lowering his newspaper.  Now, this sounds familiar, thought Harry, rolling his eyes and slowly shaking his head.

"In two days, Uncle Vernon," he answered.

"Where are you going?"

"School."

"Comb your hair before you leave," said Uncle Vernon, and lifted the paper once again, blocking Harry from his sight.  Off to the side, he glanced at Dudley's bag, as if thinking over Harry's comment about it's state.  Dudley didn't notice, desperate to see how many pieces of toast he could get in his mouth at one time.

Waiting a moment to see if there was going to be anything else they would want to say to him, Harry stilled at the table.  With his composure and balance regained, Harry staggered from the kitchen to his cupboard, pulled open the door, and went searching for all his school books.  He brushed a spider off the cover of his grammar book, shoved it in his bag, and removed his arithmetic book to place it on his bed.  Today, with the Halloween party, there were no classes after lunch, and Harry wasn't going to need to do any problems about trains.

His walk to school was slow.  Taking the medication Amanda had given him right after leaving the house, Harry was starting to feel better, and it was making the journey easier.  Despite this, Harry didn't want to push anything, and he was moving at a pace that, if seen by Kevin or one of his friends, probably would have provoked a laugh or two.  At least he felt better today than he had yesterday or the day before; not once did he have to sit down to rest his head before continuing.

Mrs. Figg hadn't been outside when he passed her house, something Harry was happy to see.  She had already interfered a few too many times this year for the Dursleys liking, except for when they volunteered his assistance to her.  There was nothing the Dursleys liked more than making him work; they seemed to think it gave him much needed discipline.

"Hi, Harry," said Nikki, as Harry walked into the gates of the school.  She was standing off to the side of the front doors with Amanda, both of them with their knapsacks on their back, shopping bags in their hands.  "Are you dressing up for the class Halloween party?"

"No," he answered, kicking at the pebbles, which were littered across the gravel at the school entrance.  "Since I wasn't dressing up at all this year, I didn't see a reason to get a costume."

"You could pretend to be Dudley," offered Amanda.  "All you would have to do is find a few pillow and shove them in your clothes."

"Though I don't know why you would want to dress as that loser."

"I don't think so," said Harry.  "Dressing as Dudley isn't appealing to me, either."

"How are you feeling?" asked Amanda, cocking her head to the side and taking on a look of concern.  Harry, though he had never been mothered by anyone, was starting to feel just that way.  "Did you take the contraband I gave you?"

"Yeah, I took it.  I feel a lot better today."

"You worried me when you had to go to the nurse yesterday.  Then you didn't even come back.  Did your aunt and uncle come for you?"

"Not exactly," muttered Harry, shifting his weight.

"Hm," said Amanda, tapping her chin with her forefinger.

"Well, we'll see you in class then," said Nikki, waving goodbye as Harry gave them a wan smile and pushed open the doors to the school building.

His footsteps were indistinguishable among the shuffles of school shoes and the squeaks of rubber soles against the school floor.  From the intoxication of the children's syrup, he could feel the pounding in his head slowly ebb away, and he was in a haze as he entered Miss Hudson's classroom in the fifth year hallway.

"Good morning, Harry," she chirped, over the chatter of the students who were already in the classroom.  "Happy Halloween."

"Happy Halloween," replied Harry, returning Miss Hudson's smile despite the angry protests of his head.  Making his way to the back of the classroom, Harry winced as his chair scraped against the floor, and Harry pulled it out far enough to drop his bag to the ground and slide into his seat.

*****

"What are you wearing?" asked Dudley, staring in horror at Piers.

It was Dennis's idea for them each to come dressed as a super hero, and Dudley, who seemed to think it was going to impress Staci, agreed.  They were each dressed as a various super hero, none of which was really amusing with the exception of Piers.  Harry snickered behind his hand, surprised that Piers had actually gone for the bait when Harry casually mentioned how cool Dudley thought Mighty Mouse was.  There wasn't anything Piers was finding amusing about standing with his friends dressed in a mouse costume, but Harry figured that any beating was worth the look on Piers's face.

"I . . ." stammered Piers, "but he said . . . I'm Mighty Mouse!"

The look on Dudley's horrified face, the large rounded contours twisting terribly, was priceless.

"You're a rodent!" said Malcolm, turning red, and trying not to look directly at Piers.

Nikki and Amanda burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter when they entered the classroom, clinging to each other as they walked past Dudley's gang to the back of the room, and had Miss Hudson not been present, Harry got the distinct impression that Dudley would have sent Gordon after them.

"Great costume, Polkiss," said Nikki, regaining little composure, which was lost once Piers scowled in her direction.  Once again, she clung to Amanda's bright red jumper, trying not to fall over.

"I've never - seen anything - so funny!" Amanda choked out, tears swelling in her eyes and spilling over her lids, clinging to her lashes and clumping them together before making thick treks over her rounded cheeks, which were bright pink.  Throwing her head back to expose her neck and toss her hair back in the process, Amanda emitted another round of howls.

"Why are you Mighty Mouse?" asked Dennis, the only one of the gang who did not look sick from either terror or embarrassment.

"Because . . . I needed a super hero . . . Harry said -"

That was all it had taken.  Dudley's gang all turned their eyes to rest on Harry, Dudley sending him such a glare that Harry visibly swallowed, twisting his fingers in the fabric of the too big shirt hanging from his thin shoulders like a curtain for his sickly frame.  Offering a weak smile, Harry gave off a low, nervous laugh that made Nikki and Amanda collapse onto Nikki's desk, hysterical.

"I didn't tell him to dress up as Mighty Mouse.   I just suggested it.  I wasn't serious."

"You," said Dudley, turning bright red and pointing a finger at him.

"Boys," interrupted Miss Hudson, gently pushing Dudley's arm back to his side.  "There will be no fighting in class.  I'm sure it was nothing but a misunderstanding.  Why don't you go get snacks?"

At the mention of food, Dudley seemed to temporarily forget that he hated Harry for sending his best friend to school as Mighty Mouse, and with one last look of contempt, Dudley waddled over to the snack table.  Malcolm, Dennis, Piers, and Gordon gave him evil glares, Piers's suggesting serious bodily harm, and they followed after Dudley's lead.  Miss Hudson frowned, looking over at Amanda and Nikki, both of whom were stretched out across the desks and randomly giggling.

"I would expect a little more maturity out of you two," said Miss Hudson.  "Sit up, and leave Piers alone for the rest of the day.  If I catch you bothering him again, I'm going to have to give you both a pink slip."

"Yes, Miss Hudson," the two girls said, biting their lips in a manner which Harry presumed was to keep from laughing.

"That was great, Harry," said Nikki.  "Mighty Mouse.  What a loser."

"I can't believe he actually did it," said Harry.  "I really didn't tell him.  I just casually mentioned that Dudley liked Mighty Mouse."

"He wants to be a super hero?" said Amanda, giggling.  "More like a super loser."

"Oh dear gods, what is Staci wearing?" said Nikki, gagging, and Harry turned around to see Staci and her gang come into the room.

As leader of the gang, Staci was wearing a bright pink silky gown that flowed down to her ankles, and she strutted in front of her friends, tossing her hair.  Dudley, who was shoving his face full of sweets at the snack table, was watching her with big eyes, licking his big, swollen lips.  Behind Staci were Sara, Kristy, Mindy, and Jennifer, all of whom were wearing equally girly outfits.  Mindy appeared to be some kind of harem, while Jennifer was wearing a lavender gown and carrying a wand with a sparkling star on the end.  Sara didn't look much different from the way she usually arrived at school, wearing blue and yellow socks, green jeans, and a maroon blouse that was frayed at the edges.  Kristy was wearing an extremely short dress, her hair all piled on her head in what looked like a complicated twist, which Staci was examining and fixing at the moment.

"What are you supposed to be, Jason?" asked Mindy, noticing Harry standing not that far away.

"My name's Harry," he replied.

"Don't listen to him," whispered Staci, pulling Kristy's bangs to rearrange them.  "He's retarded so he thinks his name is Harry.  Just keep calling him Jason and don't acknowledge the correction.  We don't want to encourage him."

"That would be bad," agreed Sara.

"So, Jason, what are you supposed to be?" asked Jennifer.

"I'm not dressing up."

"Why not?" asked Staci, nodding as she was satisfied with Kristy's hair.

"I didn't want to," he muttered, hoping she wouldn't press further.  The last thing he wanted the class to hear was that Uncle Vernon wouldn't allow him to trick-or-treat.

"I'm a Greek Goddess," Staci told him, smoothing down the front of her gown, which shone in the light.  "Aphrodite, to be exact.  It was my big sister's idea.  Of course, a goddess of beauty isn't that far of a stretch, but really, it does make for a lovely costume."

"It's beautiful," affirmed Sara.

"What are you supposed to be?" said Nikki, looking pointedly at Sara.

"I'm a rag doll," Sara replied.

"Isn't she cute," said Staci, clasping her hands before her chest and cocking her head to the side, bursting into a grin.

"Adorable."

"What are you?" asked Staci, challenging Nikki.

"I'm an evil cheerleader," said Nikki, motioning to her pleated skirt, her black jumper, and the pigtails she had pulled her dark brown hair into.  "Amanda is the color red."

Amanda nodded the affirmation, motioning to her very red attire.

"Except, I find a fault in your costume, Nikki," said Amanda, frowning.  "Aren't all cheerleaders evil?"

Nikki frowned, curling her bottom lip under her teeth and nipping slightly at the soft pink flesh she found there.  "You know, you're right.   I didn't think that far ahead."

"I'm a cheerleader," said Staci.

"Cheerleaders are the best," said Sara.

"Right," said Amanda.  "I know you're a cheerleader.  What are the rest of you supposed to be?  Her Royal Cheeriness's slaves.  Where are you grapes and oversize leaf fan?"

"I am a Barbie doll," said Kristy, swinging her hips to the side, and putting all of her weight on her left leg.

"And I'm a fairy princess," said Jennifer, brandishing her 'magic wand' at them.  "Mindy is a genie.  She could grant you three wishes, but she doesn't want to."

"Except maybe for Jason," said Staci.  "How are you?  Are you doing anything about being retarded?  Maybe you can take a class or something and then you won't be retarded anymore."

"If he's retarded, though, why isn't he in the retarded class?" asked Mindy.

"Because he doesn't know he's retarded," explained Staci.  "And it upsets him to be away from that fat boy that always follows me."

"Why?" asked Kristy, grimacing.  "I would want to get away from that fat boy.  He's really gross."

"I know," said Jennifer.  "He comes to our house and stands outside, waiting for Staci.  Once he came to the door and asked our mum for her.  It was really gross."

"And mum gave him cookies, like he needs to have more food," said Staci, casting a disgusted and withering look to Dudley.  "What's his name again?  Duncan?"

"Dudley," said Harry, though he didn't really know why.  Staci, turning from her gaze, looking at him, frowning.

"Are you still here, Jason?  Well - go.  Go away.  Shoo, little boy."

She waved her hand at him, tossed her hair, and went back to talking to the girls about how Duncan asked her to be his girlfriend.  While the girls laughed, Harry turned away and walked back to his desk, carefully holding his head in his hands.  It was throbbing, and he looked around for Amanda and Nikki, discovering they were at the front discussing something in harsh tones with Dudley.

"Happy Halloween, Harry," said a soft voice, and he looked up to see Miss Hudson standing by his desk.  He gave her a weak smile.  "Something wrong?  Do you not feel well?"

"I have a headache," he said, as she sat down in Robbie's vacant chair, facing him.

"You were sick yesterday, too.  Were you feeling well this morning?"

"Not entirely," he admitted.

"Did you tell your aunt and uncle?  You shouldn't be coming if you don't feel well."

"I was fine.  My head just got worse a little while ago."

Her lips pulled into a tight frown, a look that Harry often saw on Miss Hudson's face when talking to him about his living conditions with his aunt and uncle.  She wasn't the first one who disapproved of how he was treated, though she was the fastest to catch on.  It usually surprised him how long his other teachers had taken.  With his oversized clothes, his dirty hair, and the fact he sometimes wasn't allowed to eat because of doing something they thought was wrong (or couldn't bathe because he used his 'share' of water doing chores) - one would think that people would pick up sooner.

"I have something for you," said Miss Hudson, a secretive smile on her face.  Slipping her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a small bag and handed it to him.  "Don't tell your cousin.  Keep it just between us, okay?"

"Okay," said Harry, fingering the plastic edges while Miss Hudson winked at him and went to break up a fight that had started between Dudley and Nikki.

*****

Sitting in his cupboard, waiting for Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to come get him to hand out the trick-or-treating sweets, Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out the small, plastic bag that Miss Hudson had earlier given him.  It was one of those cheap ones that came in packs of eight or ten, mostly black with a big orange jack-o-lantern on it, which had a bubble coming out of it's mouth reading, 'Happy Halloween.'  Taking the end of the bag in his left hand, Harry turned it upside down to let the contents spill out into his right palm.  It was a small assortment of sweets, each one loaded with sugar, and certainly nothing the Dursleys would ever permit him to have, because things like that were reserved for Dudley alone.

In reality, it wasn't very much.  Just about thirteen pieces that would last him a few days, a few hours if he was wasteful with it, but Harry still smiled, staring down at it.  He had never gotten sweets on Halloween before, and the fact that Miss Hudson had gone out of her way, if only in the slightest, to make up this sweet bag for Harry really said something.    Grinning, he dumped the pieces back in the bag, folded down the top, and stuffed it in one of his old sneakers, which was falling apart at the sole.  He didn't need Uncle Vernon catching him with that and asking where it had come from.

Practically impossible not to see, Miss Hudson had developed a particular liking for Harry that surpassed any other teacher he had ever had.  Perhaps it was because she was still young, hadn't had many classes before Harry's, but her sincere attachment to him was not one Harry was going to complain about.  Pity had been received before, especially from the teachers who thought Dudley was a rude and bullying boy, but there had never been such an affectionate gesture in Harry's life before.  It even made up for the fact that Miss Hudson was trying to compensate for the fact Harry had no friends.

There was a rasping sound, and Harry's head snapped up from his hands to see Aunt Petunia's silhouette in the cupboard doorway.

"You can come out now.  Duddy and his friends are about to leave."

As usual, Dudley and his gang went out together every year, and Aunt Petunia was always the one who took them.  Uncle Vernon usually stayed back to make sure Harry caused no trouble with the sweets, and last year, had instilled a video camera by the door so that he could keep an eye on Harry from upstairs.  Walking into the living room, Harry could see that Piers had put together a makeshift super hero costume that had nothing to do with Mighty Mouse, and he tried not to smile when Aunt Petunia took the boys' picture.

"The dish is by the door," she said, curtly, and Harry tried not to look smug when Piers passed him, glaring, mouthing threats that Harry could not understand.

Once they had gone, Harry retrieved a stool from the kitchen and tried to make himself comfortable by the door.  It was Uncle Vernon's policy that he not wander away from the perimeter of the camera's eye, and so he was banned from the living room, the steps, or anywhere else where he would have been able to sit for a few hours and not have the circulation in him bum go out on him.

Getting up and down from the stool when the doorbell rang was annoying business, and Harry jumped down when it sounded halfway through the time he was appointed to sit there.  It was Staci Bree and her friends, all in the same outfits they had been wearing at the class party that day.  Standing a little away from them were four woman whom Harry presumed to be their mothers.

"Jason!" cried Staci.  "I saw that fat boy that lives with you!  He told me I looked pretty, as if I didn't know already."

"We all know how pretty you look, Staci," said Sara.

"Why did he go out and you didn't?" asked Jennifer.

"Because I didn't want to," said Harry, shortly.

"Don't I look pretty?" asked Staci.

"Lovely," replied Harry.  "Do you want your sweets or not?"

"Of course," said Kristy, rolling her eyes.  "Why else would we do this?  Besides getting the pretty costumes, that is."

"Do you have any fruity ones?" asked Staci, looking in the bowl.  "Chocolate is just terrible for my complexion."

"Chocolate makes you break out," Mindy informed him.  Sara nodded.

After sorting out who got what, Staci prompted a compliment to her extremely good looks, and then the girls left.  Their mothers beamed at them, as if proud they were devoid of anything remotely resembling a brain, and Harry just sighed as he watched Staci disappear down the block.  At least Kevin doesn't trick-or-treat in this neighborhood, Harry thought with a sigh.  Though, he might rather deal with Kevin than be called Jason one more time today.  It didn't help that he was starting to respond to the name.

With the doorbell sounding again, Harry scrambled down from his stool, grabbed the bowl, and opened the door.  Standing outside were Nikki and Amanda, Mrs. Graves standing off in the background with who Harry presumed was Mrs. Derris.  Nikki was wearing stylish jeans, a tight pink top, and her hair was cascading down around her shoulders, making her look older than it really should when it was paired with the make up plastering her face.  Amanda, however, was wearing a red dress that went mid-thigh, big black boots, and carried a plastic pitchfork that was both red and black.  Her hair was braided, and she wore heavy, black make up.

"Hi, Jason!" said Nikki, tossing her hair.  "I didn't know you were handing out the sweets!"

"Er - yeah," said Harry, casting a nervous glance to the security camera.  "What are you supposed to be?"

"Can't you tell?" said Nikki, pouting.  "I'm, like, Staci, and I'm, like, god."  She tossed her hair again, only this time in an exaggerated way, making it swing ridiculously behind her.  "Aren't I the most, like, gorgeous thing you've ever seen?  Of course I am.  I'm god!"

"You do it very well," replied Harry, nodding.

"Of course I do.  I'm Staci!"

"What are you?" he asked, looking to Amanda.

"Satan's wife," she answered, her voice low and dull.  "You can call me Bloody Mandy.  I hope you don't mind if we don't stay long.  I have tea with Lucifer and I can't be late."

Visibly swallowing, Harry nodded.  "Very nice."

"Of course she is!" said Nikki, tossing her hair from side to side.  "She's, like, my friend, and I'm Staci!"

"Is your cousin here?" asked Amanda, and Harry cast a glance to the camera again.

"No.  He's out trick-or-treating."

"Piggy boy.  Why does he always follow me, Jason?" asked Nikki, giggling.  "No, seriously, Harry, if I were you, I'd get out of here.  It's a shame you have to live with him.  You should run away, or break your parents out of jail.  I heard they were in prison and that's why you don't live with them."

"Why don't you live with your parents?" asked Amanda.  "I know the prison thing can't be true."

"Er - my parents are dead," muttered Harry, looking down at the bowl.  "Do you want your sweets or not?  I can't really stand here all night."

"Oh," said Amanda, biting her lip.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't know.  If I had, I wouldn't have asked."

"Of course you wouldn't have asked if you had known," said Nikki.  "Why would you ask if you did know?  Why do people say things like that?  It's stupid."

"Sorry," muttered Amanda.  "So - erm - how are you and Narnia coming along?"

"I'm almost done with the third one."

"I can bring Prince Caspian in to school with me tomorrow, then."

"Okay," said Harry, nodding.  "You want?"  He offered the bowl out.

"Oh, yeah," said Amanda, grabbing a piece and dropping in her bag, as did Nikki.  "Thanks, Harry.  See you in school tomorrow."

"Okay.  Thanks again for, you know, the medicine."

"Oh.  You're welcome," she answered, he face brightening.  "G'night, Harry."

"Night."

Amanda and Nikki turned from the door, huddled together as they walked toward the sidewalk.

"He's cute, isn't he?" he could hear Amanda asking Nikki.

"Yeah, I guess," she answered.  "In that gross, dirty, derelict sort of way.  You aren't serious, are you?  Harry Potter?"

"Well . . . what does derelict mean?"

"Amanda, don't you know anything?"

The girls voices faded and Harry stepped back inside, closing the door behind him.  Amanda thought he was cute.  There was something he hadn't heard before.  Glancing once again at the video camera, Harry settled the bowl in his lap as he returned to his position on the stool.


End file.
